


Violent Delights

by SugarPrincess



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Drama, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Pet Names, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 63,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarPrincess/pseuds/SugarPrincess
Summary: (Y/N) Falcone is the youngest daughter of Don Carmine Falcone. After losing her mother she returns to Gotham to finish her last year of high school, under the protection of her father's best assassin (her kind of sort of boyfriend). Things just keep getting weirder the more friends she makes and the longer she stays the crazier things get. So why can't she bring herself to leave?
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Reader, Edward Nygma/Reader, Jerome Valeska/Reader, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Victor Zsasz/Original Female Character(s), Victor Zsasz/Reader
Comments: 144
Kudos: 285





	1. Chapter 1

“She's not saying anything to anybody. Won't even tell us her name.”  
“Maybe she's a mute?”  
“We found her gagged,” Jim deadpans, reading the file, “Have you given her any water?”  
Jim glares at the rookie cop and pours a cup of water before walking over to the girl shaking in the chair.  
“Hey,” he walks over and hands her the cup, “Have some water,” he sits down to meet her eyeline, “I'm Detective Gordon. Can you tell me what happened?”  
Her eyes snap up meet his.  
“Detective Jim Gordon?” She rasps out, winces and drinks the water.  
“Yes,” he's taken aback but glad to get a reaction, “You know me?”  
“Not personally. I've heard of you.”  
“I'm pretty new.”  
“I know. I heard my dad mention you.”  
“Your dad?”  
She hesitates, looks him up and down.  
“Carmine Falcone.”  
Jim chokes on air, and stares at her searching for physical similarities between this girl and the larger than life mob boss. He finds very little, but he can’t find a lie either. She sighs, it comes out shaky.  
“He's probably having a stroke right now. Can I use your phone?”  
“Sure,” he hands her his cell.  
“Thanks.”  
She purses her lips before putting in the number.  
It rings once.  
“It's me. I'm at the police station,” she pauses, “Relax, I'm with Gordon,” another pause, “yeah I couldn't make it very far right now if I wanted to, if you're so worried be quick.”  
She hangs up, hands him back his phone and chew on her lip.  
“Um, sorry in advance about the guy coming to pick me up. He tends to rub people the wrong way.”  
Jim's not sure what to say to that. But he’s met Victor Zsasz. How bad could this guy be?  
“No worries. I didn't know Falcone had a daughter.“  
“He has two. I'm the bastard love child,” she states it so bluntly he almost misses the bitterness in her tone.  
Jim really doesn't know what to say to that. But it did explain why she was so young. She couldn't be more than eighteen. If she was even that.  
“Detective Gordon,” the lanky looming forensic scientist walks over, folder in hand, “Is now a good time? I found something new pertaining to the case.”  
Jim looks between Nygma and the girl. On one hand he had a job to do and it didn't involve babysitting. On the other hand this was Don Falcone's daughter. And she just got off the phone saying she'd be with him. He looks at Ed and the girl.  
“You made notes?” Jim asks, taking the folder and takes a breath. They were actually readable.  
“Could you do me a favor Ed?”  
“Sure!”  
“I need to go over this with Bullock but I don't want to leave her alone. Someone's coming to pick her up soon. Could you wait with her until I can get back or that person comes?”  
“Of course!” Nygma looks at the girl, “Um, who is she?”  
“She can hear you,” the girl looks over at Nygma.  
Nygma turns bright red and stutters out an apology. Jim doesn't blame him. There's something unnerving about her eyes. Not dangerous, simply more than.  
“We found her this morning during patrol. Kidnapping victim. Make sure she's comfortable will you?”  
“Of course,” Nygma nods vigorously.  
He feels her eyes follow him as he walks away.  
She sizes up the guy Jim left her with. Tall, nerdy, harmless. She could probably take him even in her current state.  
“So,” her eyes trail over his lab coat, “Are you the medical examiner?”  
“No, I'm the forensic scientist,” he pushes up his glasses.  
“Oh? Must be the quite the job to have in Gotham.”  
“Yes, it certainly is very exciting,” his eyes light up.  
“What's the craziest case you've dealt with?” her morbid curiosity overtakes her.  
“Oh, there was a case pretty recently where people got infected with this toxin that made them incredibly strong and violent but only managed the growth in strength by draining all their calcium which resulted in full body collapse in a few short hours when their bones disintegrated.”  
She looks at him, slack-jawed.  
“I'm starting to see why my dad didn't want me to come here.”  
“I imagine being kidnapped doesn't help your opinion of the city either,” he adds sheepishly.  
“Oh I would get kidnapped no matter where I live. Gotham is at least interesting.”  
“...Do you get kidnapped a lot?” he asks wide eyed.  
She should deflect with humor. Harmless as he seemed right now her relation to the most powerful man in Gotham wasn't something she wanted to advertise. It was already making things difficult for her, and her existence wasn't even common knowledge.  
“Oh all the time. Everybody wants a piece of me. I'm just too cute for my own good,” she sighs dramatically, before shaking again.  
There's a glint of something in his eyes, before he's familiar once more.  
“Are you cold?” He shrugs off his lab coat and drapes it over her. It doesn't do much for warmth but it's a nice gesture.  
“A little but I think I'm going through withdraw. They gave me something.”  
“Oh, I'll get you more water. You'll purge it faster if you drink more fluids.”  
“Ok,” she blinks as he hurries off coming back with two cups of water.  
“Uh, thanks Mr...” she trails off where his name would be.  
“Oh god, I never introduced myself that's so rude!” he flushes, “I'm Ed, Edward Nygma.”  
“Edward Nygma,” she repeats, “Your name is literally Enigma?”  
She laughs. It’s a lovely sound.  
“Tall, dark and full of mystery huh?”  
She’s smiling.  
Edward blushes. He's used to being teased. But this felt different, not at all malicious it's almost like-  
-She's flirting with us-  
The voice in his head finishes. It's still so unnerving hearing his own voice in such a smug tone. Another him that's not him, but also is.  
“My secrets have secrets,” he says, except it's not really him. He would never say that.  
She's looking at him more intently now. Her eyes make his heart stutter and he is himself once more.  
“Hmm, I wonder if yours are better than mine.”  
Her gaze is starting to unnerve him again. He pushes up his glasses, a nervous tick.  
“Do you like riddles?”  
Her eyes light up.  
“I would love to hear riddles from you Mr. Nygma,” she leans in close, he flushes, but the other him doesn't let him lean back and instead forces him closer.  
-I like this one-  
For once Ed doesn't disagree with the voice in his head.

There is sound of wheels screeching to a stop before the doors burst open and Victor Zsasz walks in more murderous than Jim has ever seen him. Jim's hand hovers over his gun and for the first time he is unsure. He has never seen Zsasz so mad. Irritated certainly, but always playful, confident, relaxed. Jim has never seen him like this.  
The entire GCPD falls silent at his entrance.  
That's what tipped her off, that and Ed trailing off.  
“Took you long enough,” she turns.  
Zsasz's sharp gaze lands on her and he's across the room in a second. Pulling her into his arms the next. He's got one hand in her hair, the other on the small of her back. There's blood on his cheek and he reeks of it. She's got a pretty good idea whose blood it is. You don't fuck up watching Don Falcone's little girl so bad and live. 

Jim gapes at the scene as his mind slowly catches up.  
-Sorry in advance about the guy coming to pick me up. He tends to rub people the wrong way-  
He closes his eyes. Of course it was Victor fucking Zsasz.

She puts her arms around him when his hold on her doesn't loosen.  
“Careful Victor, someone might think you care about me,” her tone is teasing but her hold is firm. She doesn't actually want him to let go.  
He does care about her. She knows and he knows she knows. But he'll never say it. And she'll never admit it except in jest. It's safe that way. Safer anyway. But if he's going to hug her in front of the whole freaking police station that kind of renders their efforts in denial pointless. Gordon was maybe the only cop not in someone's pocket. Being seen as Victor's girl could mean having an even bigger target on her back. Regardless of how much they've actually indulged in and how many of these cops worked for her father.  
Then again. She's a Falcone. Some bitchass would always be after her. And Victor was already protecting her. He would just have to be even more protective now. Especially if he was going to hug her like this in public.  
She relaxes anyway.  
Because she's always safe with Victor. He was every bit the monster everyone said he was, but he was hers.  
“Where's Gordon?” Victor squints down at poor Ed, “You said you'd be with him.”  
She jerks her head at Jim up on the second floor with his partner.  
Victor's dark eyes go darker.  
“He left you alone?”  
“He left me with Ed in a full police station.”  
Victor turns his glare on Ed.  
She put her hand on his chest.  
“Ed's been a gentleman. And Jim was nice enough to lend me his phone to call you,” she glares at him.  
“I need to talk to Jim real quick.”  
She tightens her hold on him and ticks up one brow.  
He lifts his hands in mock surrender.  
“Just talk.”  
She lets her hand fall to her side.  
“Say goodbye to your friend,” his eyes flick back to Ed, “I won't be long.”  
She watches him walk up the steps to reach Jim. The entire station holds their breath.  
She turns nervously towards Nygma, resigned. There were many reasons she had few friends, but Victor Zsasz definitely didn't help her social life.  
But while there was fear in his eyes, there was also curiosity. She wasn't sure if that was better but he wasn't running away. Then again she was still wearing his lab coat. She shrugs it off and hands it back. Thanking him. He's still looking at her like she's a puzzle.  
“I'm starting to think your secrets are better than mine. You never did tell me your name.”  
“It's (Y/N).”  
“(Y/N),” Ed repeats.  
She sees Victor making his way back.  
“It was nice meeting you Ed.”  
“Likewise, I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances.”  
“Thank you,” his gaze was starting to unnerve her, but he seemed genuine.  
She wasn't sure what to with his sincerity that now that he knew she associated with an assassin as well known as Zsasz. Maybe he was crazy, or conniving or both. It was Gotham. No one here is ever harmless. Not for long anyway.  
“Let's go,” Victor takes her hand, “Your father is very worried about you.”


	2. Chapter 2

The city flies by as Victor speeds home. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel. She's tense, waiting for an interrogation. She gets sick of waiting about five minutes in.  
“Aren't you going to ask what happened?”  
“I don't want to crash this car,” Victor's mouth is a thin line, “Did something happen that might make me crash this car?”  
“They didn't touch me. Not like that. But a they wanted to.”  
Victor nods, jaw clenched so hard it was nearly a right angle. She wants to kiss it. He would let her. They were alone. But she doesn't want to distract him. Victor doesn’t exactly comply to speed limits.  
“I'll take my time with them,” he assures her, “Any requests?”  
“I'm sure you'll think of something appropriate,” she pauses, “The redhead dragged me by my hair.”  
“I'll bring you his scalp.”  
“I don't want his scalp. But go for it,” she looks out the window. As comforting as it was to know he would be taking care of the men that took her, she’d rather just have him close. But she knew how he was going to run off the second he gets her home. “I take it you'll be busy with them for a while then.”  
He hears the question she doesn't ask. He's good at that. Years of practice.  
“I'll find you after. You'll be safe.”  
But she knows that. God, of course she’d be safe, her father lives in a fortress of a mansion.  
“I just feel safer when you're close.”  
“You shouldn't,” he gives her a smile like a shark, it fades as he looks at her, “I'll be close. Just get some rest.”  
“You'll find me after? Right after?”  
She hates sounding so needy, like a kid. As if he needed to be reminded the other reason why she was so untouchable.  
But she needs him.  
His eyes are unreadable. But he nods.  
She sighs out a breath and looks out the window, calm. 

Victor leaves her with her father. His eyes linger on hers as he goes.  
“You have nothing to be afraid of,” her father assures her, “Everything will be taken care of. It won't happen again.”  
“I know.”  
She's seen what Victor was capable of. 

She showers off the grime of the experience and rubs oils on her rope burned wrists. There are bruises on her arms and one blooming across her cheek. She rolls her eyes. There’s nothing she can do about that. And crawls under the covers.  
It's dark when she opens her eyes.  
She feels him before she sees him. Hidden in the shadows, looking like a shadow himself. He walks closer when he sees she's awake. There's blood all over him. His black suit hides it well, but it shows on his pale face. He certainly looks like a monster, tall, dark, white face, black eyes, the only color on him red blood. Face a blank mask.  
He's staring at her as he closes the distance. Waiting for a reaction. She only stares back.  
“You told me to come right after,” he stops at the edge her bed.  
She smiles and pulls him down closer.  
He smiles back.  
“Can you stay?”  
“As long as you like.”  
She kisses him. He kisses back. It's tender but chaste. No tongue. It's oddly more intimate than it would be if it were sexual. Because it's Victor. And Victor is never tender.  
“Can I see?” she touches his arm.  
“I'm taking my time,” he says, but he rolls up his sleeve. Two new marks, “I'll show you when it's done.”  
She nods, fingers ghosting over his face. The blood is still wet, but not warm. “Lay with me?”  
Another day he would tease her first. But not tonight. Tonight he just shrugs off his suit jacket and lies down beside her. She puts her arm around him, and he puts his hand over hers. She sleeps soundly, well into the next day.  
He's gone when she wakes. But she expected as much.  
He'd said he wasn’t done. And he took his job very seriously. He would find her again once he was finished. She just had to wait.  
Victor would always come find her. 


	3. Chapter 3

She was under house arrest. School wouldn't start for another week. And while that meant her bruises would heal by the time it did. It also meant she didn't have a reason to leave. Victor was still busy torturing the guys that kidnapped her and likely getting some freelance kills done before he would be more attached to her once school started. There seemed to be an understanding now that as good as her dad's guys were Victor was the best when it came to protecting her. And considering the one time he wasn't on the job she got kidnapped, she could get why. But that meant no freedom at all. Oh, she wasn't a prisoner in her house. She just couldn't leave with four armed guards. Or Victor. Obviously she'd prefer Victor. But Victor was busy.  
So she was forced to wander the house, usually sticking to her bedroom for the sake of avoiding awkward exchanges with her father and even more awkward exchanges with her father's girlfriend/cook/maid. She seemed nice but she also kinda just came out of nowhere and she was way young. Seven years older than her tops and that was not something she wanted to think about.  
But she couldn't avoid her father forever. Carmine Falcone wasn't really the kind of man a person could avoid anyway.  
She's lounging on the patio when he tracks her down. Sitting not at all lady like, legs in a pretzel in her chair as she stares blankly at the garden. Her tea long forgotten.  
“I have concerns about your relationship with Victor.”  
She had concerns about his relationship with Liza. She sure didn't bring those up.  
“Why?”  
She and Victor had always been close. That's why he kept getting assigned to her when she visited over the years.  
“I understand he goes your room at night.”  
Did he now? That was news to her. Other than that night she hadn't seen him. But it was Victor. If he didn't want to wake her he wouldn't have. And she wouldn't put that past him.  
“We haven't crossed any lines if that's what you're implying.”  
She sounds a lot icier than she'd intended.  
“You're seventeen and he is twelve years your senior. You can't blame a father for being concerned.”  
“You're the one who picked him to protect me.”  
“I picked him because Gotham is a dangerous place and Victor is a dangerous man.”  
“He is. He's also not that kind of man.”  
“No.”  
“And he is loyal to you.”  
“Yes.”  
“So you have nothing to worry about.”  
“I'm your father. I am always going to worry about you.”  
Her chest constricts at the sentiment. He was her father. And she knew he cared for her safety. But she had never felt a part of this family. She had never been a part of this family.  
“Why let me come here? Could have shipped me off somewhere else. Sophia's never set foot in Gotham.”  
“You're not Sophia.”  
“No. I'm not. What do you mean by that?”  
“Sophia thinks she's entitled to this city.”  
“You don't seem like you're retiring anytime soon.”  
“I'm not. But she believes that with Mario in medicine when I do retire this city is her birthright.”  
“Is it not?”  
“She isn't ready.”  
“Maybe she will be by then.”  
She's not really sure why she's defending her sister she's never met. But this is one of the longest conversations she's ever had with dear old dad and she's curious. How does a man decide to keep one daughter far away and let one in? Did he love her more or love her less?  
“She's ambitious but not controlled. Wanting Gotham isn't enough. Everyone wants Gotham. There's a reason I'm on top. She would get herself killed.”  
“And you think I won't get myself killed?”  
“I have different concerns about you.”  
Right, Victor. She smiles humorouslessly.  
“I missed you. Yearly visits aren't enough. We've spent so little time together and you're already so grown up,” he takes her hand in his, “I wanted to be a part of your life but I left you with your mother because she could provide a different kind of life for you. And that seemed better. But after what happened. I much rather keep you close.”  
She closes her eyes, breathes in, breathes out.  
“I am sorry.”  
She pulls her hand from his to her cold cup of tea.  
“It's fine,” she fiddles with the slim porcelain handle, “We weren't that close. I always knew she only kept me for your money.”  
“She loved you too.”  
“Maybe. It didn't feel that way.”  
They fall into an awkward silence. It's not completely horrible. But it's not comfortable either.  
“How do you like Liza?”  
She bites the inside of her cheek.  
“She seems nice.”  
“You can speak openly.”  
“She's very young.”  
“It's not like that.”  
She can't hide her grimace.  
“I would really rather not know what it's like between you two.”  
“Fair enough.”  
Her father has a nice smile. Kind. Kinder than she expects.  
“Just be careful. If you care about her someone will try to use her against you,” if they weren't already, “Like you said, everyone wants Gotham.”  
Her father nods, grimly.  
“I'll be careful. You'll be careful too, yes?”  
“If Victor ever hurts me. You'll be the first to know.”  
He reaches for her hand again. She lets him this time. He has nice big hands. It doesn't bother her that these are hands that have killed before. They are her father's hands.  
“If anyone hurts you I expect to be the first to know.”  
“Okay dad.”  
“I mean it.”  
“I know.”  
He takes a bite out of a muffin. One of Liza’s. Maybe she was going to raise his cholesterol, kill him slowly.  
“Your uniform fits?”  
“Yeah,” she sighs.  
Black blazer, black tie, gray skirt, white shirt. It fit her fine but it was beyond boring.  
“I expect you to do well. You’ve always gotten good grades.”  
The implication was clear. She rolls her eyes.  
“I’m offended you would even think that of me. I take my grades very seriously.”  
“Well you’ve never dated before.”  
“I’ve never actually been on a date with Victor. We’re trying to be careful.”  
“Could have fooled me.”  
“You’re very snarky for such an old man.”  
“Where did you think you got it from?”  
She sticks out her tongue. He laughs.  
Maybe house arrest wasn’t so bad. 


	4. Chapter 4

She is fumbling with the tie of her uniform when Victor walks in. He doesn't bother knocking even though he knows she hates it. Maybe especially because she hates it. Something about her rolling her eyes and calling him a prick just thrills him.  
“The sexy schoolgirl costume better be for me Princess.”  
She shifts her weight onto one leg and places a hand on her hip.  
“This is my uniform Victor.”  
“School's not for another two days.”  
“Maybe I wanted to give you a sneak peek,” she bats her eyes at him.  
He takes a few steps closer before stopping and leaning against her wall.  
“You didn't know I was coming over.”  
She smiles. Almost had him.  
“I'm trying to get in the habit of putting this on quicker so I can sleep a little longer. Can't figure out the tie though,” she grumbles, her eyes zero in on his perfect tie, “Show me how you do yours.”  
“I can just do it for you.”  
“You won't always have the time for that. I need to know how to do it myself! I looked it up but these pictures are completely nonsensical.”  
She tosses her phone on her bed.  
“Okay watch closely.”  
Cute as she was frustrated Victor really only liked her in a particular state of frustration around him.  
He undoes his tie.  
“The thick part crosses over, then over again. Then under and up, through the loop and down.”  
She follows his instruction closely and her lips quirk into a grin at the success.  
“How do I look?”  
She turns to him.  
“Like jailbait,” he kisses her cheek, “I got you a present.”  
“Is that right?”  
She sounds pleased already. He likes that. Satisfaction suits her.  
He rolls up his sleeve revealing five fresh lines.  
Her lips part as she runs her fingers over the bloody ridges. It hurts the way fresh wounds always do. But pain has never bothered Victor the way it does other people. And he's much more interested in her reaction to his kills. He always is. There's a part of him, the same part that feels the need to make a cut for every kill, that loves how much she appreciates his brutality. Loves that she seems to understand his sadistic tendencies and wonders what she's capable of. He's certain it would be spectacular. But he doesn't mind doing the dirty work so she can play the princess act longer. He enjoys his work. And he enjoys this version of her.  
“Do like it?” He asks even though he already knows the answer.  
“Yes,” she breathes out, pupils blown, “But it's not my gift,” her eyes narrow, “You were going to kill them anyway.”  
He smiles. Smart girl. And pulls out a box.  
“This better not be that guy's scalp," she deadpans, "I told you I didn't want it.”  
“It's not. I listen.”  
She gives him a look.  
“I listen to you.”  
“When it suits you, you listen to me. You still don't knock.”  
Victor grins slyly.  
“I'm busy guy.”  
“I'm sure that's why,” she says in a tone that suggests she's sure it's not.  
She's right.  
She takes off the lid. It's a choker. Custom made, black leather with his name engraved on the silver heart pendant.  
She blinks once. She blinks twice.  
“I'm not wearing this!”  
“It's a gift. Don't be rude.”  
“It has your name on it.”  
“You love my name.”  
“Not enough to wear it around my neck like a dog,” she's glaring now, he might be in trouble.  
“Well now if you get lost people will know who to return you to.”  
“I didn't get lost! I was kidnapped!”  
“They'll also know you belong to me and reconsider.”  
It made perfect sense to him.  
“It's demeaning.”  
“Why? You're my girl.”  
“And you're my guy," she sighs, "But if I have to wear a choker with your name in your color. You have to wear a choker with my name in my color.”  
“You're joking.”  
“I never joke about equality.”  
“It's for your safety.”  
And this was the most expensive tracker he'd ever gotten her.  
“There are plenty of far more subtle ways to put a tracker on me. You want to stake your claim. That's fine, but if you're going to pull this shit so can I,” she crosses her arms.  
“Fine,” he knows when he can't win.  
She gives half a smile and turns lifting her hair off her neck so he can put on his gift.  
“What is your color?”  
She liked most colors.  
“Pink.”  
“Pink.”  
She likes fucking with him more than anything apparently.  
“Yes.”  
“You don't wear pink.”  
“My panties are pink,” she faces him again, blinking innocently up at him as she lifts up her skirt for him to see, “Think you can remember that?” she lets her skirt drop, “That's the color I want choking you.”  
His hand shoots out to her waist and he pulls her tight against him.  
“You're playing a dangerous game,” he says through clenched teeth.  
“I think I'm winning a dangerous game.”  
She's smug. She kisses his jaw and slides her hands over his shoulders before settling her arms around his neck.  
“What brought this on? Your gifts are usually more subtle.”  
“Your father spoke to me today.”  
“Oh.”  
So Falcone had spoken to her, too.  
“He threatened me.”  
“And you took that as permission to make things official?”  
There's a laugh in her voice and she doesn't tell him off so he must have been right to.  
“I already had it made for you.”  
It was actually going to be even less subtle but the girls had talked him out of all encompassing full sized silver letters of his name and the engraving option that started with 'property of', given her reaction to this one, he would have to thank them.  
“I was going to give it to you on your birthday. Now I figure I don't have to wait. He would have shot me if he wanted me to stop. You're his daughter, threats were always a given. He basically gave us his blessing.”  
“And you wanted something extra to scare off every boy I meet when you're not around.”  
She smiles knowingly at him.  
“I'm saving them from their own stupidity.”  
“Truly you're a saint.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason Victor never liked Mario.

Her dad was throwing a party in honor of her return. It was sweet. But it also wasn't her scene. She had no friends here so it was all her father's associates. And her half brother was probably going show up.  
She never liked Mario. He treated her like she was better than everyone else because of their name but still miles beneath him. Like he hated her but still wanted to play with her. It didn't matter that he had chosen out of the family business he still had that venom. They all did. But he could have it both ways, be the good doctor and still play bad. It was infuriating. It was unfair.  
The dress was nice though. Petal pink, sweetheart neckline with a full gown. A little too girlish for her taste but it was lovely. She supposed it was dad's way of keeping her his little girl a while longer. But the dress did little to hide her curves and the pale contrast practically flaunted the black choker that sported Victor's name.  
She made rounds with her father, dozens of polite introductions with people she would never remember. Victor stood in a corner no doubt scanning the crowd. Every once in a while she would feel his gaze linger on her.  
Half an hour in she managed to snag a glass of champagne and sneak into her own corner by the balcony.  
She had yet to see Mario. But she knew he would be here.  
Sure enough.  
“You don't look like my sister,” Mario takes her face in one hand, smoothly enough not to seem brutal.  
“Sorry,” she says.  
She's not sorry. Sorry wasn't something she felt towards Mario.  
“Don't be.”  
His grip on her face doesn't budge. It isn't painful. But it is humiliating. And she knows Victor is watching and seething.  
She's raging too.  
“Let go of me Mario.”  
“Forgive me,” he lets go of her, but his hand lingers and he stands still a little too close for comfort.  
His eyes flick down to her choker.  
“So it's official, you're dating the help.”  
Disdain is heavy in his tone and face.  
“I do believe Victor's use and skill set are somewhat above the maids.”  
“Does father know?”  
“Father knows everything.”  
“Not everything,” he runs a finger down her arm.  
She glares at him.  
He laughs, raises his hand in surrender.  
“I suppose you could sic your man on me now. He wouldn't kill me though would he? I am Don Falcone's son.”  
The smug fuck.  
“Alive is a very broad category...a man with no hands can still be alive,” she takes his hand in hers, as much as she hates to touch him sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to emphasize a point, “What a shame that would be. I don't think a hand-less man could be a very good doctor.”  
“You've grown,” Mario smiles down at her, and it seems almost fond, “You used to cower. Even when you wanted me to like you. But baby sis is all grown up now,” he leans in, eyes raking up her figure, “So you can bark now. How’s your bite?”  
“Better.”  
She smiles at him like she's the predator.  
And he smiles at her like she's for once an equal.  
His eyes land somewhere behind her.  
“He really does look like he wants to kill me.”  
She doesn't have to look to know Victor definitely did.  
“That's just his face.”  
“And you're into that?”  
“On him I guess I am.”  
Mario raises his eyebrow as if to say “to each their own”.  
“It's good you have someone like him to protect you.”  
She wasn't sure what to do with him when he was being sincere. It wasn't enough to cause any internal conflict. She still didn't like him. But it did confuse her.  
“Gotta mingle,” he finishes his glass, “Enjoy your welcome home party sis. Sorry to hear you already got kidnapped.”  
He kisses her cheek, right where her bruise had been, before walking off.  
She breathes out a sigh of relief.  
“I don't like him.”  
He's close enough now that if she took one step back they would be touching.  
“I don't either.”  
She's not surprised anymore by Victor's stealthiness. It was part of his job after all.  
She's a little surprised when his hand swallows her face, and he closes the distance between them entirely. Her back against his chest as his hand goes over the places her half brother's had been. Erasing the previous touch. Not that she minded, she much preferred Victor's hands, Victor's touch. But people could see them. And not everyone at these events were her father's people.  
“He should know better,” Victor’s voice is a low.  
“He does know better. He just doesn't care. He knows you would never kill a Falcone.”  
“Alive is a very broad category,” he growls into the shell of her ear.  
She leans back into him, a smile on her lips.  
“I know. I told him that.”  
“Mmm, good girl,” he purrs, kissing her temple.  
She leans further into him and sips her champagne.  
“Wanna get out of here?”  
“Trying to take me away from my own party Victor? My father was right, you are a bad man.”  
“You're obviously not having a good time.”  
“You're going to give me a good time then?”  
“Naturally,” she can feel his shark grin as he whispers into her ear.  
She smiles at him before turning out of the room. Victor follows five steps after, but reaches her side once they're in the hall.  
They walk in silence to her room.  
“You know...” Victor closes her door, “if he did hurt you, being your father's son won't save him. Nothing will.”  
His voice is even. His eyes are death.  
“I know.”  
She slots her mouth over his. 


	6. Chapter 6

Hickeys bloomed across her neck and down her chest. Part of her is giddy at the sheer balls on that prick. Only Victor would mark her up this much after only just being permitted to be with her. Part of her really wants to smack him. The choker and the button up shirt managed to cover them well enough but the last thing she needed was her father noticing this so soon after their heart to heart.  
And he totally could have avoided her neck! The scratches she left on him were way easier to hide. Next time she wouldn't be so nice. She'll sink her nails into his damn head instead of his shoulders. Next time...  
She flushes, grabbing her bag and rushing downstairs.  
God, if this was just the aftermath of third base, sex with Victor might actually kill her.  
But what a way to go.  
She sips her coffee. She likes the taste but her hearts already hammering like a motherfucker. She pours herself some orange juice.  
Liza hands her a plate of blueberry pancakes and crispy bacon.  
She's not ready to like Liza yet. But she loves food and she can play nice, should play nice until she figures it out.  
“Where's my dad?”  
“I don't think he's up yet.”  
“Cool, thanks.”  
Liza smiles.  
She scarfs down the meal and heads for the door.  
“Oh I made you lunch!” Liza holds out a bag, “I'm sure there will be food there but in case you don't like it or something.”  
“Oh,” she hesitates but takes the bag, “Thank you.”  
Liza smiles.  
She really is very pretty.

Victor is waiting, hands in his pockets, leaning against the car. He's got sunglasses on. Black like everything else he owns. His lips curl into a smirk when he sees her.  
“Morning Princess. Did you sleep okay?”  
She checks his shoulder as she goes around the car.  
“Did you?”  
“Very well,” he starts the car, “My shoulders are a bit sore though.”  
“Oh?” How tragic.  
“Yeah. This cute little kitten I just got has some mean claws.”  
Kitten. She loathes how well that fits and how nice it sounds coming out of his mouth.  
“I share your frustration. Pets can be so very naughty, leaving marks where they shouldn't.”  
Victor's smirk turns into a full blown grin.  
“Whatever will we do?”  
“Well,” she pauses for effect, “I fully intend to punish mine. How else will he learn?”  
“Don't you find it endearing?”  
She bites her lip. A part of her certainly liked it. But he didn't need to know that. The last thing Victor needed was encouragement for his possessive behavior. He would be completely unmanageable.  
“It's mostly just inconvenient.”  
“I'm sure he'll make it up to you,” Victor purrs.  
His hand had made it up her thigh, knuckles kissing the edge of her skirt. As much as she would now like to be finger fucked in his car she thinks it might not be great to do before her first day.  
Maybe after.  
“Still, a little incentive never hurts...much.”  
She digs her nails into his hand to the point of drawing blood. He doesn't move it away. Just watches her, grin still playing on his lips, hand still on her thigh. He's somehow even driving smoothly with one hand on the wheel and his eyes on her.  
“I'm sure he'll take it well.”  
She doesn't need to see his eyes to imagine how burning the black would be. She kind of glad she can't though or she would be shoving his hand between her legs and screaming forgiveness.  
And she really needs to make him suffer now.  
She blinks. They're in front of the academy already.  
“I'll be here at three,” he takes his hand off her thigh to brush back her hair, “Don't make me wait long...Kitten.”  
“I wouldn't dream of it...Pet.”  
Victor laughs.  
“If anyone else called me that I'd kill them.”  
“If anyone else called you that I'd kill them.”  
Victor's grin widens.  
“You're really mad about the hickeys?” he tugs at her collar.  
“Furious,” she swats his hand away, “So furious in fact I won't kiss you goodbye.”  
Victor gasps. Then pouts.  
She turns away and leaves the car quickly, hoping he didn't see her grin.  
Victor pouting was just too cute. And she was mad at him dammit!


	7. Chapter 7

She looks over her class schedule. 201. Well, that had to be on the second floor, right? She makes her way up the stairs.  
There's some sort of confrontation going on the landing. A group of twelve year old boys.  
Eww.  
She tunes out their conversation and tries to memorize her schedule.  
“...So your mom and dad got killed, huh?”  
Wait, what.  
“Yes.”  
“Did you see the whole thing? The blood and everything?”  
Geez, guess the kid had an even worse week than she did.  
“Rather not talk about it.”  
She's surprised he's still just talking. She'd be swinging by now.  
“Just interested. Never seen a real dead body. Was there guts?”  
She marvels at the sheer assholery of this pudge faced little shit.  
“I'll be going to class now.”  
She stares after the kid for a minute before realizing she too should be going to class now and walks up the rest of the stairs. 

Classes were acceptable, almost enjoyable. No one talked to her after the teachers had her introduce herself. She could focus entirely on notes.  
There were some perks of having the Falcone name. Of course it wouldn't last. Once they got over the shock of her family name they'd be smoozing up to her for it. Some for the sake of self preservation, others for advancement. She used to make a game of guessing which, but people were so painfully transparent. It got boring quick.  
But fingers crossed she would have a few days of quiet before it started.  
She decides to have lunch in an empty courtyard hallway. The lone wolf bit was cool in a secluded place, in a crowded cafeteria not so much.  
Liza had given her four muffins and two sandwiches with the crusts cut off. It made her feel fuzzy.  
She frowns.  
It was just a detail.  
But details make all the difference, made people feel things.  
Liza was apparently good enough with details to notice she hated crusts, ate a fair amount more than most girls her age and made the effort to appeal to that.  
She also made an effort to look a specific classic kind of pretty with the subtly coiffed blonde hair and the shifty white clothes that fit her enough to be feminine but was conservative enough that made her look like she was from a previous era. A detail that probably appealed greatly to her father.  
Both were working. That didn't necessarily mean Liza was a threat. But it did mean she was smart. And that was basically the same thing. She was already in the house, in their lives.  
She sighs and takes a bite of the sandwich. It was delicious.  
She sighs again. Thinking about Liza was tiring. 

“Hey Brucey.”  
“It's Bruce. No Y.”  
“No parents either, so I can call you what I like.”  
That guy again. Jesus could he give it a rest she was trying to eat her fucking sandwich.  
“Please get out of the way.”  
This kid was pretty unbelievable too. Please. Please? A twelve year old boy should not have more self control than her.  
“Snobby little jerk isn't he? For an orphan.”  
She stops chewing. This shit was just begging to get his ass handed to him. She takes a breath. She can't beat up a twelve year old on her first goddamn day. That just would not fly. The kid can stand up for himself. He was holding his own just fine even if he was being entirely too nice.  
“You're being very unkind. I don't understand why.”  
Her heart melts.  
“Fuck,” she whispers under her breath. She was going to get involved.  
“Heh, boy you're a weirdo. Your mother must have-”  
“Don't talk about my mother.”  
So that's what it took for the kid to drop the please. That was kind of really sweet.  
“Better yet don't talk at all,” she walks over, “And get out of the way you and your gang of shitheads are blocking the hallway.”  
“Who the hell are you?”  
That was one setback about being new, not everyone knew who she was yet.  
Not everyone feared her yet.  
“Wait she's the new girl. My brother told me about her. She's a Falcone.”  
“Wait, wait Bruce Wayne is associated with a Falcone?” his eyes light up, “Now that is rich! Is that why you're so rich Brucey? Your dead parents worked with gangsters?”  
Bruce Wayne. There was something familiar about that name. She saw it a few days ago didn't she? A newspaper headline. Billionaire, sole survivor, mugging gone wrong.  
A resounding slap snaps her out of her thoughts.  
“You just hit me! He hit me!”  
God, what a drama queen.  
“I didn't see anything. Did you?” she asks the boys standing with him.  
They look at him, at her, at each other before looking back at her and shaking their heads.  
“What the fuck! You all saw that!”  
The handprint on his cheek was convincing. But not as convincing as her dead-eyed glare. Honestly, all the things she learned from Victor her father should be thanking him.  
“You're still in way,” she sighs, rolling her eyes.  
“When my father hears about this,” he snarls.  
“Your father?” she scoffs.  
Who did this kid think he was Draco fucking Malfoy?  
Unless his father was god he's the one who should be worried.  
Hell, his father should be scared of her.  
The kid puffs up his chest, face red. She marvels at him. Twelve years old and he thinks he's entitled to what, fear, respect? From her? He really had no idea who he was talking to.  
“Why don't you call your father? Call him now. I'd love to talk to him.”

Bruce watches Tommy call his father, tense.  
He shouldn't have hit him. He deserved it but he still shouldn't have. But the more he listens to Tommy whine on the phone, the harder his hand clenches into a fist and he realizes he's not shaking from nerves, he's shaking because he's still angry.  
He shouldn't have only hit him once.  
The girl is calm, unnervingly calm.  
The girl is the daughter of a mob boss. She benefits from her father's crimes. She's benefiting from it right now.  
Bruce can hear the tone shift the moment Tommy says her name. And his father sounds like he's yelling in panic instead of rage.  
The girl is calm as she takes the phone and perfectly diplomatic as she expresses her disappointment in Tommy's behavior. As well as her disappointment in Tommy's father for raising a son who would go so far as to insult a child's dead parents to said child.  
Bruce is not thrilled to be called a child.  
Bruce is however pleasantly surprised when she hands the phone back. He can't hear what Tommy's father is yelling. But it's bad enough to actually affect him.  
He has never seen Tommy Elliot stutter out an apology and look like he meant it.  
The mark on his cheek was already fading. Bruce should have hit him harder.  
Tommy and his friends scurry off leaving just him and the girl in the hallway.  
“Why did you do that?”  
“I don't like bullies.”  
“So what would you call what you just did?”  
She purses her lips considering.  
“Natural selection, karma maybe? If he's going to go around acting like that, he doesn't get to be upset when a bigger fish shows up and eats him alive.”  
She was answering his questions but he didn't actually get the answer to why she would help him. It didn't seem like a power trip, she acted like it was nothing. And she had to be like a senior. Taking down Tommy must have been barely an inconvenience. But it was still effort she didn't have to expend. And it didn't seem like pity either. He'd gotten plenty of condolences today and none of those people had done anything about Tommy. He couldn't think of why she would want to help him. Maybe she was helping herself? But mob bosses were rich. So it couldn't be money.  
She just didn't make sense to him.  
So he asks again.  
“But why did you do it?”  
She sighs as though supremely tired.  
“You seemed like a nice kid and he seemed like an unbelievable asshole. And patience is not one of my virtues.”  
“So...you helped me because Tommy bullying me was annoying you?”  
“Yeah, basically,” she nods.  
He nods too even though it doesn't make sense to him.  
She looks at him and sighs again. It's a long sigh.  
“I lost my mother last week.”  
“I'm sorry,” he says automatically. He's wired to be polite. But he also is sorry. Especially now.  
“Don't be. It's not at all like what happened with you. And it's not why I got involved. I just think that if someone crosses a line, like say talking shit about someone elses parents who recently got murdered in front of them, putting them in their place is basically a civic duty. I didn't do it to be nice or because I pity you or relate to you. I just did it because it felt wrong not to. Maybe it was overkill for me to go about it like that, but my goal was to get him to shut up, apologize and leave and I accomplished all of those things. Now, I can eat my sandwich in peace.”  
She shoves half a sandwich in her mouth.  
“Why not eat in the cafeteria?”  
“Not really a people person.”  
Bruce frowns. She certainly had a knack with people. The way she handled Tommy and his father was disturbingly smooth.  
“Most rich kids don't want to be all buddy buddy with the new kid when she's the daughter of a mob boss. At least not right away. They'll be all over me by the end of the week when they realize they might be able to get something out of me. It'll be like that for you too. They hate you because you're a billionaire. And they'll always hate you for that, but at some point they'll realize smoozing up to you is better for them and they'll start getting a lot nicer. Don't fall for it. No friends are better than fake friends. You'll get screwed no matter what you do, but at least you won't have wasted your time on people not worth your while,” she finishes the sandwich and takes out another one, “Also punches hurt more than slaps,” she gives him a pointed look.  
“Thanks.” That was a lot of information. And advice. Helpful advice too. His frown deepens as he processes it all.  
She shrugs and doesn't look back up at him, pulling out her phone instead.  
It looked like the conversation was over.  
But he kind of didn't want it to be.  
The girl is the only person to be nice to him today. Questionable as she seemed morally, she also seemed genuine and interesting. And he could use a friend.  
“Would you like to get lunch with me in the cafeteria tomorrow?”  
She squints at him.  
“I don't make a habit of hanging out with twelve year old boys.”  
“Do you have a lot of friends then?”  
She raises a brow. He curses himself. It was rude the way he said it. Alfred's snark was rubbing off on him.  
“No,” she says, but her lips are doing something sort of like a smile.  
And Bruce realizes the usual rules of polite society don't apply. A little rudeness might actually work in his favor.  
She sighs again, but it's not quite so drawn out as the last one and when she done pursing her lips it turns into a smile.  
“You're buying.”  
“Deal.”  
She turns back to her phone. He takes it as a dismissal and finally makes his way down the hall. He's hungry, too.  
“Goodbye, Bruce.”  
“Goodbye...” he trails off.  
He doesn't actually know her name. Just the Falcone part.  
“It's (Y/N).”  
“(Y/N),” he repeats.  
Pretty.


	8. Chapter 8

She walks out the school gates at 3:05. Victor is already there, leaning against the car looking at his nails.  
He spots her immediately and flashes a grin. She doesn’t smile back, still adamant about pretending to be mad at him. He doesn’t mind. It’s cute. But he finds most things she does cute, the way her hair and skirt bounces as she walks over to him is cute. And he’s not worried. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long and she wouldn’t be mad once she sees the choker.  
There’s a sliver peeking out just above his shirt collar.  
Her eyes widen as she zeros in on it.  
And she leaps at him.  
Pulling at her shirt collar.  
Squealing.  
And she’s smiling up at him, eyes big and sparkling and he knows he must be forgiven.  
Her laugh rings like a bell when she sees the engraving on the heart shaped pendant.  
‘Property of Princess (Y/N)’ is in tiny swirling letters, squeezed on the small silver piece. It was a bit much, but no one was going to talk shit to Victor Zsasz. And he didn’t care about being extra, if it made her smile like that it was worth it.  
“So I take it I’m forgiven?”  
“Nuh-uh!” she shakes her head but she’s still smiling.  
“What!”  
“I said I’d punish you. So I have to punish you or you won’t take me seriously,” she says matter of factly, her arms around his neck.  
“I take you seriously. I’m wearing this damn thing aren’t I?”  
“Yes you are. And I love it. But I still have to punish you.”  
He pouts and glares off into the distance.  
“...However, since you put me in such a good mood. I can make it enjoyable,” she slides one hand down his suit.  
“You’re going to punish me in an enjoyable way?”  
He lifts up one bare brow. Kinky. His eyes widen. God, he hopes it's kinky.  
“Well, you’ll probably hate it, too. But I think you’ll like it just as much,” she pats his chest, “Let’s get a smoothie on the way home.”  
Home. How domestic. His lips twitch.  
“That mango shit?”  
She nods and hurries to the passenger’s seat.  
“So, how was school?”  
“Boring.”  
“Make any friends?”  
“Not really. Spoke a little to this kid.”  
“Name.”  
She groans at the roof of his car. Which hardly seems fair. It’s a very nice car.  
“It’s part of my job. Be mad at your father.”  
“I am,” she puts on her seat belt, “Bruce Wayne.”  
That sounded familiar.  
“The billionaire?”  
“Apparently,” she shrugs and starts messing with his radio.  
“Should I be worried?” he's joking, mostly.  
“Of twelve year old boy?” she scoffs, “God, I hope not.”

Bruce watches as she bounds up to the bald man in the black suit and gets in his car. He would guess bodyguard from looking at the man alone. But seeing them together. They definitely had some sort of romantic attachment.  
“Master Bruce, shall we?”  
“Yes,” he gets in his car.  
“Is she a friend of yours, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks casually, but Bruce can tell he's already invested.  
“I don't think so. We just spoke a little.”  
“Well, that's usually how these things start.”  
Bruce nods.  
“I'm not sure I should. She's a Falcone.”  
“A Falcone. I see,” Bruce can hear the hope die in Alfred's voice, “maybe it would be best to branch out. Someone in your year, perhaps?”  
“Maybe,” Bruce agrees, “But no one else said anything when Tommy Elliot harassed me about my parents.”  
Alfred's quiet for a moment.  
“Have you considered Master Bruce she might be trying to get close to you for some nefarious purpose?”  
“Yes. But I think she would have been more pleasant if she was trying to get something. Her main motivation seems to be eating. We're having lunch tomorrow.”  
“Is that right?” Alfred sounds interested again.  
Bruce nods.  
“Alfred I think there's something I need to do,” Bruce clenches his hand into a fist, “Can you take me to Tommy Elliot's house?”

“Oh my god! Alfred said what!” Her eyes are wide and impossibly bright, she's grinning and in the bright light she looked almost glowing, “I think I'm in love with your butler.”  
“Alfred's pretty old,” Bruce cringes, “And don't you have a boyfriend?”  
“Oh yeah,” she looks dreamily off into the distance, hand wandering to her choker, “Wait I never said anything about a boyfriend,” she looks at him with narrowed eyes.  
“I saw you with that guy yesterday. It was kind of obvious.”  
“Oh,” she blushes, “Yeah, we recently made things official.”  
“Oh? How did you meet? He looks older.” Like out of college older.  
She purses her lip.  
“He works for my dad.”  
“Oh,” Bruce chews slowly, “What does he do?”  
She looks off to the side, before looking back at him.  
“He's an assassin.”  
An assassin.  
His fork stutters against his tray.  
An assassin.  
Jim Gordon thinks his parents death might have been an ordered hit.  
An assassin.  
“Is he any good?”  
Her brows quirk up.  
“Why? Are you looking for a hitman?”  
“Possibly,” Bruce studies her, she's studying him too, “A specific one.”  
Her brows go higher.  
“A specific one,” she repeats, “Looking to off your parents's killer?”  
“He's already dead. They found my mother's necklace in his possession and closed the case.”  
A knowing look settles over her.  
“That's convenient.”  
Bruce nods, eyes on her.  
“I could ask.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. I can't guarantee anything. Victor is the best but he's a solo type of guy. He doesn't really know other assassins, other assassins know him.”  
“Why are you helping me with this?” Of all the directions he thought this conversation would go this wasn't one of them.  
“I guess I like you,” she shrugs, “and...I don't think you're the type to let this go,” she sighs, “The things people do in the dark usually stays in the dark unless you dig really fucking deep. You could end up looking forever,” Bruce can feel the hair on his arm stand, he knew that was possible but hadn't let himself consider it, “Plus I don't think it's Victor.”  
“No?”  
She shakes her head.  
“He keeps track of his kills. Makes tally marks on his arm,” she demonstrates with her butter knife.  
He can't tell if she's joking or not.  
“And this is the guy you've decided to be with?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
She nods and starts eyeing his cinnamon roll. He sighs and edges it towards her. Her eyes light up and she beams at him.  
Bruce guesses he likes her too.


	9. Chapter 9

“I have friends Bruce. Also, rude!”  
Turns out lecturing the kid on rudeness wasn't very effective when said kid just watched you devour a foot long tuna sub in nine minutes.  
“Do you have any friends your age?”  
She scrunches up her face.  
Wait!  
“Jerome and Jeremiah.”  
“What?”  
“They're friends, my age.”  
“Those don't sound real!”  
“They're ginger twins who travel with the circus, nothing about them sounds real! Doesn't make them fake, you dick,” she throws down her napkin.  
Bruce looks dubious.  
Little gremlin.  
Hang on!  
“Hey, you're one to talk!” she glares at him, “You're only other friend is a pretty girl who breaks into your house at night and also somehow saw the face of your parents' killer. Like that's not completely ridiculous.”  
“Selina is real...And I never said she was pretty.”  
“You get all gooey eyed when you talk about her,” she points at him accusingly, “Plus she's a fantasy of course you imagined her pretty.”  
Bruce sighs, opens his mouth and closes it again.  
“I will introduce you.”  
“How? You have no way to contact this girl she just shows up through your window.”  
“Alfred's seen her, too!”  
“Uh-huh, and Alfred would never lie for your benefit,” she rolls her eyes.  
“Stop messing with my head,” Bruce glares at her.  
“Honey,” she drags out the y, “if that's all it takes you need to evaluate some things. Like your reality,” she widens her eyes dramatically.  
“You're the worst.”  
“Yeah,” she cackles, “And I'm your bestie.”  
Bruce looks constipated but his mouth twitches up and he doesn't deny it. 

She plops onto her bed.  
God, it's been ages since she thought about the twins and almost a decade since they'd first met.  


Mario had taken her to the circus. Sibling bonding her father had wanted. She was eight and too young to understand concepts like half-brother. Or what “gold digging whore” meant but that's what Mario said her mother was. So it had to be true. Mario was smart.She was really excited. Everybody said big brothers were the best thing to have. They protect you and buy you ice cream and she never really got to hang out with her big brother on account of living with mom and him being busy with college. She had put on her best dress. It was pink with white lace trim and blue strawberries. And she had her hair done in pigtails with her prettiest hair ties. The one with bows on them.  
But Mario was mean.  
He pulled at her hair until her eyes teared up and then called her a crybaby. He pinched her arm. And tripped her. She scraped her knee in the fall and even though he said he was sorry she could tell he didn't mean it.  
Jerome found her crying behind a tent.  
“Hey what's wrong? Are you lost?”  
She was a sad sight no doubt, scraped knee, dirtied dress, uneven pigtails, tear swollen cheeks, hugging her knees to her chest.  
Her pigtails smack her in the face as she shakes her head.  
“I'm here with my brother.”  
“You need help finding him?”  
She shakes her head again.  
“No. He's mean. I'm just going to stay here forever.”  
“Oh, you don't wanna stay here. This place sucks.”  
“But circuses are supposed to be fun,” she frowns.  
Then again she was wrong about big brothers. Maybe she was wrong about everything. Her frown deepens.  
“Well, not this one. You should find your brother. No way he sucks as much as mine.”  
“Jerome I can hear you.”  
Her eyes widen at the sight of another red headed boy, identical to the one in front of her. Except this one had glasses and his hair was neater. And they just felt different. But they had the same face.  
“There's two of you,” she whispers, like it's a secret.  
“Yeah, we're twins. I'm the cute one,” the first boy winks at her.  
She giggles.  
“That's silly. You're silly!”  
The boy looks thrilled by her reaction.  
“But I am the cute one.”  
His twin looks heavenward.  
She shakes her head, but she's smiling now.  
“You're both the same amount of cute,” the boy frowns, his twin turns pink and looks at the ground, “But you're definitely the silly one.”  
“Flirt,” the boy pouts, crossing his arms.  
She doesn't know what that means. But she likes how he says it.  
“Jerome's right though. You should find your brother. You need to take care of your knee. It could get infected.”  
She pouts.  
“He doesn't care. He's the one that tripped me.”  
“He tripped you?” the twins are frowning now.  
Even the silly one, Jerome. Jerome is a silly name.  
“He pulled my pigtails too. And he called me a crybaby,” there's a tremor in her voice that she hates.  
She is not a crybaby!  
The brothers share an angry look that's makes her a little nervous but they don't seem angry at her.  
“Screw him then!”  
“Jerome!”  
“He can't do that! We should beat him up.”  
“He's a grown up,” she informs them, “You would get beaten up.”  
“A grown up. Picking on his baby sister,” Jerome glares.  
“I agree he should be punished but what can we do?”  
“I'm not a baby!”  
“Well no, but you kinda are.”  
“I'm eight!” Eight is almost ten.  
“Well, we're nine,” Jerome points at him and his twin, puffing up his chest.  
She pouts nine was bigger.  
“Hey don't be upset. I don't think you're a baby. Just being the youngest means getting called the baby sometimes. What if,” Jerome looks at his twin, “What if we were to be your big brothers?”  
“I can have both of you!” she gasps eyes wide.  
“Yeah, if you want,” Jerome shrugs but his eyes are fixed on hers.  
“You'll be nice to me?” She looks up at him through her wet lashes.  
He grins.  
“Very nice.”  
She looks at Not-Jerome. He nods.  
“Of course.”  
She beams at them and gets up to fling one arm around each boy's neck. Jerome hugs back right away. His brother pats her gently on the back and makes some sort of coughing sound before pulling away.  
“We should take care of your knee, before it gets an infection,” Not-Jerome says, pushing up his glasses.  
His ears are bright pink.  
She smiles at him.

“Okay, that should be good,” Not-Jerome declares, having cleaned the wound.  
“Shouldn't we stick on a bandaid or something?” Jerome asks.  
“We don't have any big ones, and putting on a bunch of little ones would just trap dirt and hurt to take off. Better to just keep it clean and let it heal.”  
“Want me to kiss it better?” Jerome offers.  
“Jerome, I just cleaned it!”  
“Shut up, Miah.”  
“Your name is Maya?” She asks.  
Wasn't that a girl's name?  
“Jeremiah. Miah for short.”  
“Oh, so both your names are silly.”  
Her new big brothers look a little offended. She probably shouldn't have said that.  
“What's yours then?”  
“(Y/N),” she answers looking up at them with the biggest wide-eyed look she can manage.  
“That's alright I guess,” Jerome looks unhappy.  
She pouts, and looks down at her shoes.  
“I said your names were silly not that I didn't like them. Don't be mad Jerome,” she pleads.  
Jerome is already back to grinning.  
“I'm not mad. Don't think I could be if you keep saying my name all cute like that.”  
She grins up at him and says his name three times fast.  
Jerome is ecstatic. Jeremiah rolls his eyes.  
“You're just the prettiest thing,” Jerome curls one of her pigtails around his fingers, “Like a Doll. Dontcha agree, Miah?”  
“Yes, very pretty.”  
“This is my best dress!” she tells them eagerly, before remembering the dirt staining the skirt, “Or it was anyway,” her shoulders slump.  
The twins share another look.  
“You're still the prettiest girl here,” Jerome says firmly, as if she were arguing against him.  
“You're silly!” she giggles.  
“But you like me dontcha, Doll?” Jerome says everything like he's joking. But his eyes are super serious.  
“Yes, Jerome. I like you.”  
Jerome shoots a proud look at Miah, who doesn't say anything.  
“I like Miah, too.”  
Jerome shrugs, “She said she liked me first.”  
“Because you asked her, Jerome,” Miah looks back at her, “Do you want us to help find your brother now?”  
“No way!” Jerome exclaims, just as she shakes her head, “She wants to stay here with us!”  
“Jerome we can't keep her. You know we can't keep her.”  
“Well, we don't have to give her up now. Unless, you wanna go?” He looks back at her.  
She shakes her head.  
“I like you much better. My brother can wait. He'll have to. If he goes back without me he'll be in so much trouble.”  
The twins grins are mirror images.  
They stole so much cotton candy and caramel popcorn. Miah worried about her teeth but Jerome kept sneaking her more anyway. Her fingers were sticky with sugar. They snuck into a few shows and evaded her brother spending their time by a tree up the hill past the trailers. Jerome made her laugh until her face hurt. He would not stop tickling her. He liked making her squeal.  
Better than Mario who liked making her cry.  
It was dark by the time they all agreed she actually had to go home.  
Mario was furious with relief when he found her. But then just furious when he found someone keyed his car.  
She had to bite down her laugh when she saw two ginger twins waving at her in the distance. She could just make out their grins.

She'd gone back as often as she could to see them. It was hard but the time they spent together was electric. After a while it just turned into a handful of visits every summer when she stayed with her father.  
Then Miah left.  
And it was just her and Jerome.  
It was still electric, but it was different.  
And then there was Victor, and she felt like she had to choose.  
She loves Victor.  
But she still misses Jerome. It's impossible not to miss Jerome. Maybe she could go see him.  
She curls on her side. The past should stay in the past.


	10. Chapter 10

Bruce was loaded. She knew this of course but knowing it and actually seeing the extent of his wealth was very different. She was no stranger to mansions. But hers was technically her fathers. It was filled with guards. And their color scheme was much lighter in color, cream columns and french doors. The Wayne manor was just Bruce and Alfred and the whole place was decked out in mahogany. It felt very different.  
Alfred was still a bit iffy about her she could tell. But he made really good tea and did all the polite British things.  
She told her dad she was tutoring Bruce. But they mostly just hanged out in his dad’s office and bounced conspiracy theories off of each other. Which usually led to them watching movies. And then more conspiracy theories.  
“Victor says it wasn’t a mob hit. As far as he knows nobody had any reason to kill your parents. So, either that guy was the worst mugger ever or he’s working for someone else. If I were you. I’d do some digging into your parents company.”  
“The company. Why?”  
“It’s the only logical conclusion. These are so good.”  
They’re these amazing cinnamon sugar things. And they’re so small. She’s had dozens already.  
“Alfred can give you some extra to take home.”  
“I wasn’t fishing for that. But thank you,” she smiles at him.  
She’s sitting upside down on his leather couch. Her head on the seat, her legs hanging over the back. Bruce is looking over the police files again.  
“You know the information isn’t going to change right? You can’t force a breakthrough, Bruce.”  
“Won’t stop him trying though,” Alfred grumbles.  
She catches the old man’s eye.  
It must be hard to take care of someone else’s kid. To love them like their yours but not have the authority of a parent.  
“Hey Bruce, let’s do something else. Hmm?” she squeezes his arm, “You can go back to brooding when I’m leave. Let’s watch a movie. I’ll even let you pick.”  
“...Okay,” he puts down the files reluctantly.  
She smiles at him. 

They’re half way through Empire Strikes Back when a girl slides through the window.  
She drops the popcorn bowl.  
“What the fuck!”  
“I told you she was real,” Bruce says smug to his very core.  
“What the fuck!” she says again.  
The girl had goggles. Who wears goggles? What are they for? And her outfit. The lined leather jacket was killer. But the hair. The dollop of wild dirty blonde curls. Even better. It was no wonder Bruce had a crush on her she was adorable.  
“I believe you owe me fifty dollars.”  
“Hang on. How do I know you didn’t hire this girl to play your made up girl? I mean the timing is very convenient.”  
“Who would go for that job?”  
“People have done worse for less money I’m sure. And you’re very rich.”  
“You told your girlfriend about me?” the real made up girl asks, cocking her head.  
“Girlfriend!” She and Bruce wear matching looks of horror and disgust.  
“Hell no,” Bruce looks somewhat offended by her vehemence, “I mean no offense, but you know I like men. Older men-”  
“-Ancient men.”  
“He’s twenty-nine and he fucking fine,” she corrects him, before turning back to the girl, “So why did you decide to drop in Serena?”  
She can see Bruce give her a look out of the corner of her eye.  
“It’s Selina,” the girl crosses her arms.  
Damn, she got the name right.  
“Convinced yet?” Bruce asks.  
“Not even close,” she looks mournfully at the popcorn splattered across the floor, “Can you go ask Alfred to pop some more corn?”  
“And leave you two alone?”  
It’s flattering really that they’re close enough now she has the power to embarrass him in front of the girl he likes.  
“What, scared I’ll figure out the ruse?”  
Bruce rolls his eyes.  
“Fine.”  
They watch him leave the room before turning to focus on each other.  
Green eyes. Gosh, how charming!  
“Didn’t know Bruce had friends,” Selina starts first.  
“I don’t think he has many.”  
“He’s never mentioned you,” she juts out her chin.  
“He’s mentioned you.”  
“So how do you know each other?”  
“School.”  
“What’s a senior doing hanging out with a sixth grader?”  
She was protective of him. How fascinating!  
She grins.  
“Just sorta fell into it.”  
“I guess his money would make anyone trip.”  
She out right laughs at that. Funny girl.  
“Money isn’t something I lack. You on the other hand...”  
Selina bristles, but looks away from her. It’s the first time she’s looked away.  
So she was getting close to something…  
“I steal everything I need just fine. I’ve stolen from him,” she says it like she’s trying to prove something.  
“I imagine you would have to self sufficient. Getting close to Bruce could mean safety, stability. I’m sure you strive for that kind of stability.”  
“Don’t we all?”  
Those eyes are something fierce. But those words from someone so young. So soft. She's still got baby fat. Selina couldn’t be a year older than Bruce. Babies the both of them. Children.  
She nods.  
“Can I give you some advice, Selina?”  
Selina rolls her eyes, “People ask, but they’ve always already made up their minds.”  
“We’re creatures of habit,” she shrugs, “…He cares about you.”  
“That’s not advice.”  
“No, it's an observation,” Selina glares at her, waiting for her to continue, "He trusts you. He thinks you saw the face of his parents killer. Now,” she smiles, “for all I know, that’s true. Maybe you actually have flawless night vision. Of course it’s much more likely you’re just lying to him. And who could blame you. Even if you had a face Bruce might never find the guy. So what’s the big deal if you don’t?-”  
“-Is this where you threaten me?”  
“Threaten you?” she laughs, “What for? With what? You haven’t done anything. You haven’t admitted to doing anything. We’re just talking. And I’m just saying, if you hurt him, I will hurt you. I’d hate to have to. You seem like a lot of fun. But I am invested in his well being.”  
It’s good to be clear about these things.  
“...But you just described the perfect crime. I could lie and get what I want and he would never know.”  
“But you would know, and you care about him.”  
“So what,” Selina scoffs, “I should screw myself, and tell him the truth? He would be devastated.”  
“He would get over it. He likes you. You like him. You don’t want to build something on a lie this big. Think about it. What would hurt you more? What is he worth to you?”  
They stare at each other.  
Her phone buzzes. It’s Victor. He sent her a line of random emojis.  
The door opens, and Bruce is back with a fresh bowl of popcorn. Ugh, Victor's timing was just rude.  
“I’m afraid I have to go. My ride is here,” she pulls out a fifty, and slaps it to Bruce’s chest.  
“I told you she was real.”  
“Don’t get all excited. You were right one time. I’m right every other.”  
Bruce rolls his eyes.  
“What did you guys talk about anyway?”  
“Just girl stuff,” she shrugs, “It was nice meeting you Selina.”  
She actually means it.  
She realizes later with deep regret that she forgot to ask about the goggles.


	11. Chapter 11

“Are you free tonight?”  
“Yeah.”  
“There’s a charity ball, would you like to go with me?”  
“Are you asking me out?”  
“Yeah,” Bruce looks real thrilled about it too.  
She rolls her eyes.  
“Why are you asking me?”  
“We’re friends.”  
“You know that’s not what I mean.”  
“Selina isn’t interested in me.”  
“The girl breaks into your house on a regular basis. She’s into you. Don’t be a moron. And send her a dress with the invite. She won’t have anything to wear to something like this. We’ll go shopping after school.”  
“We?”  
“Yes, we. I’ll need a dress too.”  
“You’re going?”  
“It’s for charity. And it’s your first date! I have to stalk you. I am obligated to.”  
“I don’t think that’s true.”  
“Well, you don’t know anything. So shush.”

Bruce stands awkwardly to the side as she flips through dresses with a violent intensity.  
“Will, Victor be coming?”  
“No, he's got a job tonight.”  
“Oh,” Bruce could guess what that meant.  
“Yeah, so I need a dress that'll drive him into a frenzy, really just ruin his night,” she says, determined, squinting at a sequined black dress and a red strappy one before putting them both over her arm.  
“That sounds...reasonable,” Bruce didn't really understand their relationship. They didn't make sense to him. Even given who she was, she seemed much too good for him. Surely there was someone younger and less of a murderer she could be with. But she seemed really happy with him, even when she wasn't happy with him. And as much as he hated to admit it, it would appear that Victor took very good care of her. So Bruce would just have to try. He didn't have to like it.  
“What do you think?” she steps out of the dressing room, doing a little spin.  
She went with the sequined black one. She looked older, and she looked stunning.  
“I think Victor is going to be kicking himself.”  
“Bruce!” she flashes him a wide grin, “Sometimes you say just what I want to hear.”  
She bops him on the nose.  
“We still need a dress for Selina.”  
“Oh, I already picked it out. It's darling!”  
“Can I see?”  
“You'll see it when you see her tonight. What you don't trust I have good taste?”  
“Well...” Victor.  
“In clothes,” she glares at him as if she'd read his mind.  
“I trust you completely,” he raises his hands in surrender.  
“Yeah, that's what I thought,” she glares at him some more.

“I picked out the dress,” she boasts to Alfred as they watch Bruce and Selina slow dance.  
“I heard,” he smiles at her.  
Whatever doubts he had about her seemed to have faded since her last visit. She had a sneaking suspicion he had his ear to the door when Bruce had left her and Selina alone.  
“The empire waistline is a bit girlish. But the skirt is really cinched it for me, looks like of those fancy teacups. I love fancy teacups.”  
“An excellent choice. She looks like a lady.”  
“She looks like a doll,” her smile falters.  
God, one word and she's thinking about Jerome.  
“You look quite stunning yourself Miss (Y/N).”  
“Thank you Alfred.”  
“But I don't see your shadow anywhere.”  
“My shadow's busy tonight.”  
“Ah, I see.”  
“They would make a cute couple, don't you think?”  
Selina was taller than Bruce in those kitten heels. And there was this awkwardness that always comes with first dates and young love. But that would change. They meshed well. She could totally see them together.  
“They would drive me mad. But Bruce does like her.”  
“Oh they would totally be one of those on and off couples that break up like five, twelve times but still end up together.”  
“Please,” Alfred shudders, “the future is bleak enough as it is. Don't predict such horrible things.”  
She laughs.  
“Fifty bucks says I'm right.”  
“So I would have to suffer and lose money? No thank you.”  
Alfred was a lot of fun.  
They watch the young couple dance some more. She sips her virgin pina colada and plays with the tiny umbrella. She loves the novelty.  
“Why not call up some of your other friends? I'm sure they would be better company than an old man.”  
“Don't sell yourself short old man. I think you're excellent company,” she smiles at him, “...I don't really have other friends. Kinda antisocial.”  
“I wouldn't think that of you.”  
“Why not?”  
“You're very charming when you want to be.”  
“So are you. Where are all your friends?”  
“It's complicated.”  
“Oh, I see,” Alfred seems to tense, “You were one of those James Bond type spies hmm? You can tell me” she nudges him with her shoulder, “I won't snitch.”  
He laughs.  
“Just because I'm British you think I used be a James Bond type?”  
“No,” she looks him up and down, “You have a certain vibe,” Alfred raises a brow, “Like you got a lot going on under the butler title, and you got attitude,” Alfred bites back a grin, “And looks.”  
“You know,” Alfred leans in, “I'm starting to see why your shadow is so persistent.”  
“Alfred!” she gasps, hand over her heart, “I'll have you know I'm a very respectable girl.”  
“Of course,” Alfred smiles.  
She smiles back.  
The song changes.  
Alfred holds out his hand.  
“We're being too conspicuous just standing and staring. And you did not wear that dress, just to stand.”  
She downs her drink, grin on her lips.  
“Gotta warn you,” she takes his hand, “my shadow might get jealous.”  
“All the more reason then,” he gives her a knowing grin.  
“Oh Alfred! We are going to be such good friends.”  
He pulls her to him in one smooth motion.  
“That was some James Bond shit.”  
“Shh,” he winks and spins her around.  
Her skirt spreads like a fan, kisses her ankles, and they sway.  
His hand is high on her back. Perfectly polite, but Victor would still be bothered. It was such fun making Victor jealous, it really brought out his eyes and that tick in his jaw. But it was even more fun to reassure him.  
And Alfred was a lot more fun than the usual randoms she'd flirt with. A potential friend. She really didn't have many of those.  
“I did have these friends when I was little. Twins, and we got along really well. Until we didn't. I haven't seen them in ages. Haven't had any contact with them either.”  
“What happened?”  
She shakes her head.  
“It got complicated.”  
“Complicated?”  
“Yeah, you know. We got older and things changed...” she trails off.

She's fourteen and hazy in the mid summer heat and perfectly relaxed between sleep and awake. The grass is soft beneath her and there's enough wind and shade to keep her from melting. She's distantly aware of the twins by her side. There's no reason to open her eyes. They had all afternoon. And she doesn't need her eyes to see them. She knows them so well now.  
Miah is reading no doubt. He's always reading something these days.  
Jerome she can feel sprawled out next to her. He always wants to be close to her and then closer still. And it's hard to tell him no when she likes having him close. He's staring at her she's sure of it. He's always staring at her when she's around. It feels vaguely wrong but she likes having his attention.  
She wishes Victor would look at her like Jerome does. But he hardly looks at her at all. Maybe when she's older.  
“She's ours you know,” it's too matter of fact to be Jerome.  
“I saw her first.”  
Were they talking about her? She frowns.  
“Doesn't matter. We're hers and she's ours. You can't keep hogging her.”  
This sounded like an old argument. Had they been fighting over her?  
“It's not my fault she likes me better than you.”  
“She doesn't,” Miah says there's an edge in his voice now, “She likes us equally. You're just shameless and she humors you,” Jerome tenses beside her and she worries he'll hit him if she doesn't wake right then, “Careful, you'll wake her,” Miah warns.  
That stops him. And she can tell Jerome is back to staring at her.  
“She's so pretty Miah,”she can feel his fingers trail over her face, hover over the ruffles at the front of her dress.  
Then something soft presses against her cheek. Again at the edge of her mouth.  
“You should kiss her when she's awake Jerome.”  
“I will.”  
He does.  
They both do.

She blinks.   
“...It was fine at first, until it wasn't anymore. Miah left and things got more complicated. The last time I saw J. I did some things I shouldn't have. And I left things, badly,” she fixes her gaze on her shoes.  
She'd never talked about it with anyone. But Alfred seemed like a safe choice. She was pretty certain he wouldn't tell anyone.   
She turns back to look at Bruce and Selina. They're still awkward and blushing and innocent.  
“It's nice to see that innocent sort of love. Uncomplicated. You know it won't stay that way, but it's still nice.”  
“Is it complicated with Victor?”  
“A little,” she frowns, “Nothing I can't handle. Nothing not worth the trouble,” she smiles, “But I still miss things.”  
“Like the twins, before it got complicated.”  
“Yeah...They were just all mine you know? I never had something that was just mine. Victor's mine. And he's very loyal. And I like that. I just don't like that I have to share his loyalty. He's dedicated to my father first, his job second, and me third. I don't like being third. But I can live with that. Getting on his list at all, is a privilege. But sometimes I miss what being friends with the twins meant for me.”  
Alfred nods. He has a very comforting presence.  
Almost like a father, but much easier. Uncomplicated.  
“There's always opportunity for pure, innocent, uncomplicated love. You'll make more friends, lovely girl like you,” he squeezes her hand, “I don't know what happened. But maybe it would be easier to move on if you said goodbye?”  
Goodbye. She never did say goodbye to Jerome. She left before he woke up. He probably hated her. Probably even more than he hated Miah for leaving because she left after.  
“You surprised me,” Alfred's voice brings her back.  
She winds up focusing on his eyes. They're very blue, that was a Bond thing too wasn't it?  
“You will surprise yourself too.”  
She can't remember what color Jerome's eyes are. She can remember almost everything else. That was surprising. Not what he meant though.  
“Thanks Alfred,” she smiles, “That's really...,” she can't find the right words, “Bruce is really lucky to have you.”  
She thinks they're the right words though because Alfred looks pleased.  
“Bruce is lucky to have you too. You're a good influence on him. I wasn't expecting that.”  
He was being very kind, and honest too. Those don't always go together.  
She flashes him a smile with all of her teeth.  
Alfred smiles back.


	12. Chapter 12

She was being reckless. But tonight she already had a reason to be out. Her father had given her the okay to go to the charity ball with Bruce. Victor was busy with a job. She doubted that meant he didn’t have eyes on her. But not having to explain it to him was a bonus. Of course she would probably have to later. And she didn’t have a ride because Bruce picked her up. But then Alfred gave her the keys to the car.  
And now she was sitting in a limo in front of Haly’s Circus, knuckles going white around the steering wheel, regretting coming at all.  
But she was already here.  
And she didn’t have the time to be uncertain.  
“Fuck,” she rakes through her hair, and grabs her clutch.  
The ticket salesman takes one look at her and tries to sell her a ticket for triple the price on the board.  
Trudging through the circus in a seven hundred dollar floor length gown was one of her less thought out decisions.  
She heads straight to the trailers. She sees his hair first. He’s taller since she last saw him. Wider too in the shoulders. But it had been over a year.  
“Hey Puddin', she breathes out.  
He freezes.  
There's already a grin on his face when he turns to her.  
The perfect mix of boyish charm and manic glee.  
“Dollface,” his grin is wide, his eyes look her up and down, “My, oh my, it must be my birthday. My favorite doll is here and sparkling!”  
She grins back, he seemed in a good mood.  
“Miss me?” she tilts her head.  
“Like crazy,” he tilts his head walking closer in until they’re less than arm’s length apart, Jerome was never one for boundaries, “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Summer's over.”  
“I'm a uh permanent resident now.”  
“Thought your dad wanted you out of Gotham. For safe keeping.”  
“My mother was murdered.”  
“Oh, lucky you,” his eyes flash, “That would do it.”  
She liked that about Jerome. That he didn't say sorry about these things. Saved her from having to pretend she was the right amount of sad.  
“Can you stay long?”  
“No, I snuck out.”  
“Always sneaking out for little old me,” Jerome shakes his head, but the grin is still present.  
He holds out his hand. She takes it.  
“How long do we have? Will you turn into a pumpkin if you’re not back by midnight?”  
“That’s not how it goes. But I definitely need to be back before midnight.”  
“Bummer,” he rubs his thumb over her knuckles.  
His gaze is heavy on her.  
They walk side by side up the hill to their spot under the tree. If she squints she can see where they carved their names into the trunk. She had her first drink here, it burned her throat and her first smoke that had her coughing for five minutes straight while he laughed like a madman. Her first kiss(es).  
She bunches up the skirt of her gown to sit down and wonders how some things can feel so very different yet completely familiar.  
“Well doesn't this bring back pleasant memories?”  
That was about as subtle Jerome got.  
She flushes. And thanks god it's dark. He would take any reaction as some sort of sign.  
Maybe she shouldn't have come.  
But-  
“I missed you.”  
It seemed safe enough to admit, before the words left her mouth.  
But he's leaning over her the next second, head angled for a kiss, ready to continue where they’d left off.  
She stops him, hand to his chest.  
“Jerome, I'm sorry I should have said, I'm with someone now.”  
Victor's choker feels heavy around her neck.  
Jerome tilts his head.  
His eyes are dark and his pale skin a eerie glow out of the range of the bright circus lights.  
“But you're with me right now.”  
He says like that settles it and leans in again.  
She’s so thrown she lets him.  
She forgot how he could get.  
Heat blooms through her, her chest is tight.  
She's frowning when he pulls away grinning.  
“Dollface,” he whispers, “Why would you come here if you didn't want me to kiss you?”  
“We're friends.” They were.  
Weren’t they?  
“Sure. You kiss your other friends?”  
“I don't have other-” she thinks about Bruce, “Okay, fair point.”  
Her frown deepens.  
His grin only widens. He twirls a lock of her hair between his long fingers. Fingers he once had her suck clean.  
“Don't feel bad Doll. If anything he's the other man. You were mine, first.”  
That wasn’t really true. But she knows better than to correct him. Jerome had a temper, just because he had never hurt her before didn't mean he wasn’t capable and she wasn’t going to tempt him now.  
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” he whispers into her ear as he plays with her hair.  
She closes her eyes. It was. But it was in the past and she wanted to keep it that way.  
She shouldn't have come.  
“I was worried you hadn't enjoyed yourself. You never said goodbye. Never came back.”  
“I stayed out all night. My dad grounded me the second I got home. And I got sent back to my mom two weeks later.”  
“So you had a good time. Is that why you're back?” he grins, “This other guy not taking care of you as well as I did?”  
“No. He takes very good care of me.”  
He stops playing with her hair.  
“So why come?”  
“Like I said. I missed you,” Jerome looks unconvinced, but leans in the moment she reaches out to caress his cheek, “Big brother.”  
His grin sharpens, before his eyes narrow.  
“How is Mario?”  
She rolls her eyes into the back of her head.  
“Hateful as always. When I see him anyway.”  
“Poor thing,” his hand curves over her bare shoulder and he leans in to nuzzle her neck.  
“I didn’t come to here for comfort,” she stops him.  
His nose brushes against her jaw as he sits up, eyes now at her level.  
“Right, you’re just here cuz you miss me. And what do you miss, exactly? Since apparently it’s not this,” he whispers against her mouth.  
“Just the way things were, I guess.”  
“What,” he pulls away, his eyes are a storm, “Miah?”  
“Not everything is about Miah.”  
“Wish everyone had your insight.”  
She’d forgotten just how tense things were between the two of them.  
“You know he didn’t leave just to leave you, right?”  
“Well, he never said goodbye and he never writes. It’s hard not to take things personally,” the bitterness in his tone bites.  
She looks away.  
Jerome sighs.  
“I’m not mad at you.”  
“Why? What’s the difference?”  
Jerome laughs.  
“You know what the difference is.”  
She did.  
They stare at each other. Just stare. Her eyes are drawn to that crease on his lower lip. It's too bad she can't see his freckles in this light. Jerome softens, but his eyes are bright.  
They were crossing into…familiar territory.  
“J, I gotta go.”  
“So soon?” his hand clenches around air.  
“I saw you.”  
“Will you come see me again?”  
She’s not sure. Her hesitation seems to be answer enough.  
He looks away from her this time.  
She wraps her arms around his neck. Old habits die hard.  
“I care about you, Jerome.”  
“Just not enough.”  
“Enough that I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep.”  
It wasn’t as if she never wanted to see him again. This just wasn’t something she could commit to.  
She made her choice.  
“Would it be so hard?”  
“I just don’t think I should,” she lets her voice quiver, “Please don’t be mad Jerome.”  
She looks up at him, eyes wide and watery.  
He glares at her.  
She wasn’t playing fair, and they both knew it. But fair wouldn’t get her anywhere.  
His jaw ticks and he’s back to grinning.  
“Scared you wouldn’t be able to resist me?”  
“Terrified,” she smiles easily and kisses his cheek. She lingers, breathing him in, “Promise me you’ll take care.”  
He nods.  
She pulls away, giving him one last squeeze before standing.  
His hand clamps around her wrist.  
“Don’t worry Dollface,” Jerome is grinning still but his eyes are hard, “I will see you again.”  
It sounds as much a threat as it does a promise.  
She swallows.  
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, J.”  
His eyes falls to her neck.  
God she hopes he can’t read the fine print.  
His grip slowly loosens, but his hand falls lower to grasp at her fingers instead of to his side.  
“I am glad you came.”  
He drinks in the sight of her.  
She stands still for a moment before turning to leave.  
The burn of his stare stays as she goes.


	13. Chapter 13

She returns home with ease. There is no ambush in the foyer, no brooding father waiting in the dark. Just a nameless guard that gives her a nod at the front door. She makes her way up the stairs to her room.  
Victor is waiting for her.  
She was deluding herself thinking it could be that easy.   
“Where have you been?”   
Victor's voice is a constant thrill. It's deep and sure, threatening and playful. Just plain fun. But not so much right now.  
She presses the door close.  
“Out, with a friend.”  
“Not Bruce.”  
“I'm allowed more than one.”  
“Sure,” he nods, staring at her, “Who?”  
“I don't have to tell you everything.”  
“No,” he stands, walking over, “but it's better if you do.”  
“Better for who?”   
She doubts very much it would be better for Jerome.  
“Everybody.”  
Victor tilts his head to the side, his eyes half lidded, his stance casual. His threat is nonetheless clear.  
She turns away from him and pulls at the zipper of her dress. Elbow bent at her waist. How did she get this on again?   
His hand takes her place.   
“Quite the dress,” he drags the zipper down to it's end, baring her back.   
“I picked it for you.”  
“I didn't show.”  
“But you were watching.” Clearly.  
“I'm always watching. It's part of my job.”  
“Yes, you are just the peak of professionalism. Always going above and beyond.”   
Victor raises a bare brow. There was enough bite in her tone to cut.  
And she regrets it.  
“I'm sorry,” she sighs, “I just don't want to,” Jerome was her one secret, and she wasn't in the mood to beg for his life.  
She looks back at him. Into those dark dark eyes that even she can never fully read.   
“Victor, you have nothing to worry about.”   
It was true.  
It was never a competition.  
He stares back at her. Face hard set.  
“You've never hidden anything from me before. Except where you were that night last year.”  
It was the last time she was with Jerome. History did so love to repeat itself. She almost smiles. Would Victor kiss her this time too?  
She tilts her head back, and points to the silver heart dangling from her neck.  
“Can't you read Victor?” her voice is playful, her lashes lowered.  
“No,” his mouth softens, his eyes too, his hand finds her neck and curves around it, “Spell it out for me.”  
“I'm yours.”   
He takes another step so they're a breath apart. His nose lines up against hers.   
They might as well be kissing.   
“Say it again.”  
So demanding.   
She rubs her nose against his.   
“I'm yours.”   
It's a whisper, and a feather soft kiss.   
He smiles.   
Satisfied.   
His hand closes around neckline of her dress and slides it over her shoulders. It falls to a heap at her feet. She teeters back as he kisses a line down her neck, her heels all of a sudden shit for balance. Her hair mattes against the closet door as she tilts back. His hands catch her waist. She's got one arm slung over his shoulder, the other around his back as he nips the tender flesh of her pulse point and she nurses the urge to tear his suit to shreds. She was near threadbare and he was still fully dressed. It was hardly fair. But his mouth covers hers just as she's about to go off and she is rendered momentarily speechless.   
Victor does good work.   
She's dizzy when he pulls away. And very warm.   
But he still makes no move to undress.   
She almost whines. She so wants to touch him. Actually feel his skin. The marble of him, flawless, smooth except for his forearm. But she liked that too.   
She pouts and leans against her closet door, watching him watch her.   
Her feet are killing her. She was not made for heels. But they were so pretty it was easy to forget how much they hurt. If she had known she'd be sneaking off to the circus she would have gone with sneakers. Fashion be damned. But now her toes were pinched and her heel was raw. She shifts her weight.   
Victor notices. He notices everything, doesn't he?   
His smile is teasing. But before she can get annoyed he's kneeling in front of her and waiting for her to lift each foot. His fingers kiss her ankles as he takes off her shoes. He sets them neatly to the side. It's very hard to be annoyed when he treats her so nice.   
Her bare feet touch the floor. And when he stands he's a full head taller.   
“You're overdressed.”  
“You don't like my suit?”   
It's a very nice suit. Like all his suits.  
“I'd like it better on my floor.”  
“Maybe later,” he smirks.  
His teeth flash.   
She wonders briefly how it might feel to have his teeth in her.  
His knuckles brush against her collarbone. Then down the strap of her bra over the swell of her breast.   
“Cute,” he smirks.   
She’d picked a particularly charming set. A near sheer white set of silk.   
“I try,” she tilts her head to the side and looks up at him through her lashes.  
“Oh you don’t have to try,” his eyes are slits, his mouth a curving line, “But it is so nice when you do.”  
He takes her chin in his hand, and rubs his thumb over her lip.   
His eyes are dark. Unfathomable.   
“It's a tie you know,” he whispers.  
“What?”   
She blinks.  
It was rare, for her to have no idea what he was talking about.  
“You're not third.”


	14. Chapter 14

She finds Victor in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, making Liza uncomfortable as she bakes. Muffins no doubt.  
She slams the little black tab on the counter next to him. She’d found the damn thing (finally) stuck under one of the sequins of her dress.  
“You bugged me.”  
“Well, you know me. Always going above and beyond.”  
She takes a deep, deep breath, and tries to reign in her death glare with little success.  
“Don’t do it again.”  
Victor looks blankly at her.  
“Victor,” she says through clenched teeth.  
“What?”  
She grinds her teeth. He clearly wasn’t listening. Even he was this was not likely to go her way. She was going to have to comb through all her damn clothes. Prick.  
She pulls herself up to sit on the kitchen island across from him. And kicks him in the shin.  
“The Don’s asking for you,” a guard pops his head in the kitchen, eyes on Victor, he gives her a nod, “Morning Miss.”  
“Morning,” she smiles back, burying her irritation for her stupid, handsome, asshole, assassin boyfriend.  
That gets his attention apparently.  
She raises a brow at his curious glance. It’s not as if she made a habit of taking her anger out on other people. If she did, the people guarding her father, her house and her would hardly be her go to. She wasn’t stupid. He knew that. He slides off the kitchen counter, eyes on her and reaches for a muffin before pecking her on the lips and walking off.  
Oh, he was jealous.  
Hmm.  
She smiles to herself. That could be fun to play with.  
Then again. Better not. Her father might have to hire more guards.  
“Why are you with him?”  
Liza looks surprised at her own question. She’s surprised too. That Liza would actually ask.  
“I just mean, you could be with anybody,” she fidgets with her apron.  
“So could you,” Liza was beyond pretty, it wasn’t like she didn’t know.  
You don’t reach your twenties looking like that and not know. People make it known. She had plenty of options with a face like that.  
“Why are you with my father?”  
“Your father isn’t-” Liza shakes her head.  
“A killer?” Charming as he was Carmine Falcone didn’t charm his way into being the most respected mob boss in Gotham city.  
“A creep.”  
Oh.  
Well fair enough. Victor didn’t exactly hide his sadistic tendencies. It worked for him. Reminded people they should be afraid of him. And why would he hide that? It made his job easier. And she didn’t mind. Sure he was also over a decade older than her, and that reflected badly on him further no doubt. The whole bugging, tracking thing was a bit much. Even for her. But she could handle him. And she liked him.  
And there was like a thirty year age difference between Liza and her father so pot, kettle.  
“I’m sorry that was rude. I shouldn’t have said that.”  
Liza is flushed with embarrassment, her shiny blonde hair falls over her face, in its usual classy swoop.  
It’s fun to make people uncomfortable. She and Victor should make people uncomfortable together sometime.  
“Yeah, it was rude. But you’re not wrong. He is a creep. He’s my creep though.”  
Liza nods, blinks. Her lashes are long are dark. Not a natural blonde maybe. Well, who was anymore.  
She snags a muffin. Blueberry.  
“Oh, I cooked you some bacon too. And eggs,” Liza sets out the plate, along with a bowl of berries.  
“Thanks,” she smiles, meaning it too. Nothing softens her mood like good breakfast food.  
Liza was very good to her. And probably very bad for her cholesterol in the long run. But hey, she’s here for a good time not for a long time. And crispy bacon is a real good time.  
“Your father is very kind to me.”  
Liza sounded genuinely grateful for it.  
Was she expecting otherwise? She chews slowly. Well, he was a mob boss.  
“Yeah,” she munches on a strip, “He’s a very nice mob boss. Lawful evil. If he can even considered evil in Gotham. He’s not really neutral either though,” she cuts into her eggs, watching the yolk bleed, “There is something…very nice about a bad man who’s good to you.”  
She and Liza share a knowing look. There’s a soft smile on Liza’s salmon pink lips in place of the usual pout.  
“So he is good to you?”  
“Of course,” she flips back her hair.  
She can’t imagine Victor treating her badly. Even if she wasn’t a Falcone.  
~It’s a tie you know.~  
But she can’t imagine meeting him at all if she wasn’t. 

She walks out of the kitchen an hour later. Liza showed her how to make cinnamon rolls. Miniature ones. So the cinnamon sugar to dough ratio was going to be phenomenal. They made a crap ton. She’ll bring some for Bruce. If there are any left by Monday. So probably not.  
She was starting to let herself like Liza a little more than she’d planned. That was probably not good. But Victor hadn’t found anything yet. Maybe it was alright to like Liza. Or maybe she was really good at hiding.  
“You shouldn’t get too attached.”  
She nearly snaps her neck she turns so sharply.  
And meets the blue eyes of a small man with a sharp nose and odd hair. She glances at the guard down the hall who remained unmoving. No immanent danger then.  
“I’m sorry,” she says without a hint of an apology, “Who are you?”  
“My apologies Miss Falcone,” his apologies weren’t sincere either, but he was making an effort to seem that way, “I should have started with an introduction. I’m Oswald Cobblepot. I’m an associate of your father’s.”  
He holds out his hand. She takes it.  
That checked out. She didn’t bother remembering any of her father’s associates. Except the big players. But even big players didn’t show up at the house. So who the hell was this guy?  
“My father’s associates don’t usually make house calls.”  
“We had some business to discuss.”  
How perfectly vague.  
“They don’t usually give me cryptic warnings either,” she matches his false smile.  
“Just looking out for you, dear.”  
How patronizing. She drops the smile.  
“I have people for that,” she juts out her chin.  
His beady eyes widen at he sight of her choker.  
“Of course. I did not mean to offend,” now that she does believe, “But how well do you know that woman?”  
Her eyes narrow.  
“How well do you?”  
He looks taken aback by her question.  
“Not at all,” he answers.  
Another truth. Or at least close enough to the truth it didn’t sound like an outright lie. But he did know something she didn’t. Irritating man.  
“Listen Oswald,” she can tell the unearned familiarity irks him, and she has to bite back a grin, it’s the little things really, “If you know something you should tell someone. But be sure you can back it up. No one likes a snitch.”  
“Of course, Miss Falcone,” he trails off eyes falling behind her.  
“What are you still doing here Penguin? Can’t find the door?”  
“I was just leaving.”  
He takes two steps back as Victor walks up behind her.  
“Uh huh,” Victor sounds disinterested, “Show him out will you?” he calls out to the guard down the hall.  
She watches as the man limps out the door with the guard at his side.  
“Did you hear all that?”  
She sees Victor nod out of the corner of her eye.  
“Is there something I should know about Liza?” she keeps her voice low.  
“I haven’t found anything yet.”  
“Yet.”  
So there was something to find then.  
She purses her lips, fixes her gaze to the floor.  
“If I do find something, it might be me who does the job.”  
He sounds not apologetic, but closer to it than she’d ever heard him when talking about his job.  
She didn’t like Liza that much.  
And if she was a spy, well it didn’t matter how pretty she was or how nice the food. She wouldn’t be mourning her.  
Still.  
“I think she actually likes him.”  
If Liza was working for someone else she wasn’t doing a very good job.  
“If she’s not who says she is that won’t matter.”  
“I know,” she sighs into his chest.  
Her fingers find the smooth silk of his tie.  
He pats her hair.  
“You’ll make sure.”  
She means to say it, but it comes out a soft whisper.  
“I always make sure.”  
She nods, wrapping her arms around him. She can count on that at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I vaguely remember Oswald threatening Liza. Pulling something like this that might plant a seed of doubt to benefit him seems like just the sneaky sort of thing he would do.  
> I don't think I made Victor very Victor in this chapter though. Idk :/  
> Comments are always appreciated :)


	15. Chapter 15

There was a lot of whispering at school. Not about her for a change.  
“Did you see the news?”  
“Yeah, oh my god. It’s horrible!”  
She rolls her eyes. Gosh, something horrible happened! In Gotham! It’s too bad she didn’t have any pearls to clutch.  
“I mean he’s like our age,” okay that was somewhat interesting, “and he killed his mother.”  
“Did you see that mug shot though?”  
“That’s sick! He’s a murderer!”  
“A very good looking one.”  
Well, killers can still be pretty. She would know.  
She finds Bruce in their usual spot.  
He’s frowning at the paper.  
They’re long past the point of needing to say ‘hello’. He’s busy frowning so she just settles in and goes to town on her sandwich. He looks up at her after a moment. Still frowning.  
“When you said you were friends with Jerome from the circus. You wouldn’t happen to mean Jerome Valeska would you?”  
“Yeah, why?”  
He hands her paper.  
“I’m sorry.”  
Her eyes glaze over the article only stopping over a handful of words.  
Jerome Valeska….Matricide…Arkham Asylum.  
She ends up stuck on the picture. It’s him alright. Grinning ear to ear, nothing but mania in his eyes. This was the same boy that once ate twenty-seven cups of pudding on a dare. Fractured his hand on a bigger kid’s jaw for flipping up her skirt.  
Kissed her.  
Kissed her.  
Kissed her.  
And she’d kissed him back. Called him big brother. In jest. To tease.  
“Do you want to hang out at mine? You can pick the movie,” she hears Bruce offer in the background haze of the present.  
It didn’t match up. That boy, this boy.  
“(Y/N). Are you okay?”  
It seemed impossible.  
But was she really surprised?  
“...I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she whispers, staring blankly at the grainy photo.  
Had she always guessed, always known and let herself be blind to it? Because it was easier? Because she loved him?  
“Okay. You’ll call me?”  
She blinks at him. Bruce was standing. People were heading back to class. Lunch was over.  
She looks dejectedly at her half eaten sandwich.  
“Yeah. I’ll call you.”

She lies to Victor.  
There’s no sugarcoating it this time.  
She tells him she has to stay late after school. Then gives a cabbie two hundred to take her to Arkham and wait.  
Arkham is…well, about as pleasant as she should have expected. She signs in with a fake name. Well, not so fake. It just isn’t her name. The guards take her to a room. Tell her no touching and bring him in.  
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he purrs upon seeing her.  
They cuff his hands to the table.  
She watches him, face blank as she takes him in. He watches her, eyes filled with the usual brightness. Mouth a grin. The guards leave them. She doesn’t say anything. He breaks the silence first.  
“You’re not seriously going to ask me ‘why’, are you?” he sounds disappointed at the mere possibility, his eyes flash, “You know why.”  
“Yes, I do.”  
A brief history of his abuse flies through her mind. Bruises upon bruises upon bruises. The occasional fractured rib. The nights his mother kick him out regardless of the weather for a fuck.  
That night.  
“You understand.”  
Jerome looks at her as if they shared some great secret. Some sort of brilliant, unrivaled understanding. Just the two of them.  
Maybe they did.  
But she’s so angry with him.  
“I understand you’re an idiot!” she hisses, leaning over the table, “How long did it take you to get caught? A day? Less! If you’re going to be a killer don’t be a stupid goddamn killer.”  
He gapes at her. Eyes wide with shock. Then his grin splits into a wild laugh.  
“Ha ha ha ha. Oh, oh, I should’ve known you wouldn’t hold it against me,” he beams at her.  
“I do hold it against you Jerome. What were you thinking?”  
“I was thinking the bitch had it coming.”  
“Well congrats,” she leans back in her seat, “She’s dead. You killed her and now you’re stuck in an insane asylum. How exactly are things better?”  
She can taste the sneer in her voice. And knows she should not be arguing with this man. This man was not her boy. But he was.  
He shrugs good-naturedly, leaning back himself. The picture of zen.  
“Your pep talk could use some work. She’s dead. I killed her. It was sublime.”  
“Subtle too,” she glares, “An axe, Jerome. Seriously?”  
“I’ll admit. I shouldn’t have been quite so impulsive. But I don’t regret it. And Arkham keeps me better fed than my mother ever did.”  
That takes her anger down from a boil to a simmer.  
“You do look well,” she admits.  
Remarkably well. She zeroes in on the hair. He’s never worn it pushed back before. How is it Arkham Asylum gave him more options for hair?  
“You like it?” he grins, noticing her line of sight.  
“It suits you,” it did, “The stripes too. The color contrast and all that.”  
Black and white, topped with flaming hair. It was a look no doubt. She might like it under better circumstances.  
“Thank you. You look gorgeous, too. I mean you’ve always been a looker,” he’s always been a flirt, “You were show-stopping last time. Sequins, stunning. And that cut,” he shakes his head, eyeing her chest, reminiscing, “I thought I dreamed you up,” his eyes snap back up to hers with that confession, “But the schoolgirl look is killing me,” his eyes trail back down, fixing on her thighs, the space between her skirt and her knee highs, “I think I like it even better. What would it take,” he leans in to whisper, “for you to bend over?”  
She takes a breath. When did he get so…suggestive?  
“I’m with someone, remember?”  
“Ahh yes,” he leans back, “You’re still wearing that choker. Victor Zsasz,” he says the name with a certain sharpness, “You know…I asked around. There are a handful of people here who can actually talk. I heard he’s quite the killer,” he watches her for a reaction, she gives him none, “No hair though,” Jerome carries on, running a hand over his own, “Maybe you should rethink that?”  
Her eyes narrow. Jerome’s thought process had always been odd. But surely he didn’t think-  
“I’m not with him because he’s a killer.”  
“So you just prefer old, bald guys?” not old, she rolls her eyes, “Come on, Dollface. You could do better. I’m only looking out for you.”  
He says it with such earnestness she could almost believe him.  
If she didn’t know better.  
“Yes, no ulterior motive I’m sure.”  
“Well, wouldn’t you like something to hold onto when you get a good pounding?” her eyes snap to his, “I know I’d love to get my hands around your pigtails as I tear into you,” her pulse quickens, it was quite the image, “We’re not allowed to touch, but I could meet you outside by the fence, work my way in,” he says low, so low, “We’ll have to be creative.”  
She clenches on nothing, but rage bubbles over her lust.  
“What the fuck Jerome!”  
She glares at him. He blinks.  
“Sorry. I forgot myself.”  
He actually seems to mean it. It bothers her, the familiarity of it. Jerome never said sorry. Except to her.  
“You forgot I have self respect.”  
“I missed you,” he says with a burning intensity.  
“It’s been three days,” she scoffs, “And you’ve been busy killing your mother.”  
“I wanted to see you again,” he whispers, eyes trailing over her, softly now.  
But his desire is still clear.  
“What’s that have to do with anything?”  
“Well, you’re here aren’t you?”  
Her mouth parts.  
Dizzy.  
His logic was dizzying.  
“Jerome,” she draws out his name, “did you kill your mother to get my attention?”  
“I killed my mother because she deserved it. Your attention is a very welcome bonus.”  
He’s grinning at her.  
That boyish, manic grin.  
She loves it. She hates it.  
She can’t stand him. She can’t stay away from him.  
But she can’t fucking look at it him.  
Never.  
Ever.  
Never.  
She stumbles out of the chair.  
“You’re leaving? Will you be back tomorrow?”  
“No,” she knocks on the door.  
“Right, can’t sneak out all the time. Domineering dad and all.”  
“No, I won’t be coming back.”  
She blinks back the tears hovering at the edge of her vision.  
She hates crying. Hates it. Hates him for making her.  
“Dollface,” Jerome starts, she can tell from his tone he doesn’t get it, “I get this isn’t a nice place. But it’s going to take a while for me to break out of here.”  
Jesus, that was a scary thought.  
“You misunderstand. I don’t ever want to see you again.”  
Her voice shakes and she hates herself, too.  
“Not good enough for you?”  
His tone is dark now. His eyes, too.  
Where the fuck was the guard?  
“Not nearly,” she answers him anyway.  
“How many?” Jerome slams his hand on the metal table, eyes fierce with determination, “How many people do I have to kill to be good enough for you?”  
God, it’s like he wasn’t even listening. What is it with men not fucking listening to her?  
“It’s not a competition J.”  
She forces her voice steady, her eyes steel.  
“No,” he shakes his head, when he looks at her he’s grinning again, “it’s a game. It’s all a game. So tell me. What’s it take to win!”  
“It wouldn’t matter if you killed a hundred, a thousand. You’re not on his level,” she spits out the words, “And I’m not interested.”  
Jerome looks at her.  
Eyes blank.  
Eyes dead.  
Before his grin sharpens again.  
“You almost got me Dollface,” he tuts like they’re playing and she’s been caught, “But you’re always interested. I didn’t make you come see me. Certainly no one else has visited,” he lunges forward, the cuffs keep him out of reach but it’s startling enough to force her a step back, the door is cold against her, “Face it Dollface. I’m a drug you just can’t quit. You couldn’t resist me when we were kiddies. You definitely can’t resist me now. You can keep telling yourself whatever it is you need to. But you’ll see. I’ll find you and I’ll show you,” her knees shake and she wonders traitorously what else he might show her, “No hard feelings,” he says sounding almost kind, but she knows better, “I know you’re scared. But it’s okay. I forgive you. You’re mine after all,” he says it with finality, “You’ve always been mine.”  
The door opens.  
She runs out.


	16. Chapter 16

She’s managed to rid herself of any evidence of tears by the time she makes it home. But something feels off, and it’s not just her.  
There’s a mood in the house.  
She checks her messages. 

Don’t miss me too much. -V 

So he was busy then. Likely for a few days at least.  
Didn’t explain very much though.  
The kitchen’s empty.  
The kitchen hasn’t been empty in months.  
There’s a pit in her stomach that only grows when she finds her father is sitting in the lounge drink in hand looking like death washed over.  
“Dad,” she hovers by the door way, “where’s Liza?”  
She can guess, but she’d like be sure.  
Though maybe ‘like’ isn’t really the right word.  
“She won’t be coming back.”  
She rolls her weight on the balls of her feet. So neither of them were going to say the word.  
She knows how to dance around a topic and still get an answer.  
“Did Victor take care of it?”  
“He’s taking care of the rest of it.”  
The rest of it?  
“What do you mean?”  
Her father looks at her, mouth a grim line. Knuckles white around the glass. Eyes miserable, and angry, but mostly he just looked drained.  
“You know what I mean.”  
She looks away.  
What is it with her and killers?  
“Are you afraid?”  
Is she?  
She’s already walking over to him, putting her hand over his and kneeling to sit down by his feet.  
“No,” she sighs, looking softly up at him, “Just sorry.”  
His gaze softens too. He sighs and pats the soft silk of her hair.  
She feels like a kid again.  
“Did you love her?”  
It was probably not the best time to ask. But was there a good time to ask?  
“I was going to retire with her.”  
Her mouth parts.  
He must have really-  
She frowns, resting her cheek against his knee.  
What does it take to kill someone you love?  
She gnaws on her lip.  
She would rather not be here right now.  
“Could I stay with a friend for a few days?”  
“Wayne kid?”  
She nods.  
“Yes, fine.”  
“Thanks, dad.”  
She stands, kissing his cheek.  
“Don’t neglect your school work.”  
“I won’t.”  
She’ll try not to anyway. She’s not feeling all that scholarly at the moment.  
“I’ll send Victor to pick you up when he’s done.”  
“Okay.”  
She turns to go.  
“Your birthday coming up,” she stops, she’d forgotten, “Whatever you want. Just name it. Eighteen is a big one.”  
Eighteen.  
The number dances before her eyes. So close and so foreign.  
“I can’t think of anything.”  
She really couldn’t. There isn’t a particular thing that would make her happy. Just a number of things she wishes weren’t true.  
But even her father can’t bend reality.  
“You can tell me later.”  
He gives her a smile. It’s weak. But genuine.  
She does the same and walks away. 

Packing is a haze. She’s probably missed some things. She’s sure she’s forgotten something. But nothing comes to mind. One of her father’s guys drives her to the Wayne manor. Alfred is very surprised to see her.  
Oh, she’d forgot to call.  
Oops.  
He let’s her in anyway. She’d like to think she has a bit of an open invitation here.  
She guesses Bruce has already told him about Jerome. Alfred’s looking especially apologetic. It’s not his fault. But if he’s going to give her extra sugary snacks she has no problem letting him feel bad. Bruce is especially accommodating. But he usually lets her have her way, doesn’t he? She rests her head on his tiny shoulder and they watch The Princess Bride with less enthusiasm than it deserves. Wesley’s fine as hell. What is it about black clad gentleman with knives?  
“Hey, you got a greenhouse, right?”  
“Yeah, a garden too.”  
Right, richie rich over here.  
“Wanna make flower crowns?”  
She’s in a flower crown making mood.  
“I don’t know how.”  
“Wanna watch me make flower crowns?”  
“...sure.”

“Bruce you’re a treasure,” she mumbles, as he attempts to get her into bed.  
It’s not an easy task. She’s a lot bigger than him, and dead on her feet, rather clingy too. But thankfully just as willing to wrap her arms around the thick covers. He really should have been more vigilant about the alcohol in the house.  
“You’re like a phuber.“  
He didn’t quite catch that.  
“I’m like a what?”  
“You’re like a FLOWER,” she hollers.  
“A flower?” he blinks, “not like a brother maybe?”  
“No,” she shakes her head violently, then pulls him very close by his collar, “My brother sucks!” she pouts, eyes falling to the side, “the other one, too.”  
Wasn't there just the one?  
She sighs, letting go, and laying back onto the bed.  
“You do not want to my brother, dude. A flower is much better.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah! Flowers are pretty,” she raises a finger, “And people take care of flowers,” she raises another finger, “I’ll take care of you Bruce,” she pats her hand to her chest.  
“You’ll take care of me?”  
He watches her fight with the sheets, and lose.  
“Mhmm.”  
“Okay.”  
He watches as she fluffs up her pillows, and piles them around her.  
“I can take care of you too, you know?”  
“You do,” she coos, “You are.”  
She sinks deeper into the covers.  
He takes it as a dismissal.  
“Bruce?” she whispers it, he almost misses it, “Promise me you won’t be a killer?”  
She’s begging him.  
Jesus, this wasn’t something she should have to beg him for.  
“Oh,” she gasps, “you can have a freebie. Just one,” she holds up her finger, then waves her hand, “That guy!”  
“What guy?”  
“Your parents’ killer. I wouldn’t hold that against you,” she shakes her head, “I just don’t want you to be,” she pauses, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who she’s thinking of, “I just don’t want all the nice things you are to not matter. Don't want you to make a habit out of it. But I would forgive you for that one. I mean that’s different. And it’s personal. I would never ask you to give that up if you had the chance,” she sighs into the sheets, missing the look on his face, “But I don’t want to lose you, you know?”  
“I promise.”  
She smiles at him. Beams at him. Smacks her hands around his cheeks and squishes.  
“You’re a sweetheart Bruce.”  
“Okay,” he says.  
It sounds strange with his mouth squished into a pout.  
She giggles wildly before burrowing under the covers.  
“Goodnight Bruce.”  
“Goodnight (Y/N).”


	17. Chapter 17

“I need to find something to do.”  
Her life has just been school, which is boring. And waiting for Victor, also boring. Not to mention worse.   
“So find something to do,” Bruce says, not looking up from the morning paper.   
He acts like a seventy year old man.   
“Wow, thanks Bruce. I hadn’t thought of that.”  
“Must be all that alcohol you consumed.”  
Rude.  
“Flowers don’t usually talk so much.”   
She attempts to smother him with his stupid giant paper.   
He bats her away. (bats lol get it)  
“Well, what do you want to do?”  
He sets down the ruined paper, focusing his attention on her.   
“I don’t know!” she whines, “That’s the problem.”  
If she knew she would just go ahead and do it.   
Bruce glances over at her phone.   
“You’ve been looking up criminal psychology for the past hour. Maybe that?”  
“Maybe...It does seem applicable,” what with Jerome’s highly concerning reasoning behind dicing his mother, and she did seem to find herself in the company of killers, “But I don’t know. I’m not married to it.”   
“Why not?”   
She shrugs. She doesn’t want to limit herself. That was the whole reason she wanted to do something. To expand. And criminal psychology would no doubt be a massive undertaking. That and-  
“Mario is already doing the doctor thing. I mean sure, he’s a surgeon,” she rolls her eyes.   
Not that she didn’t have respect for the medical profession. It’s doubtlessly important. But him being so good at it sort of ruined it for her.   
“I’d rather not follow him in any way. Not when I have other interests I could pursue.”  
“Like what?”  
She sighs.  
“I don’t know! Forensic science? The arts? I like a lot of things, the issue is picking a direction.”  
It’s always the choosing that’s the hard part.   
“Why not just dabble in everything?”  
Oh of course he would suggest that.  
“Just how much free time do you think I have? I’m going to college next year,” sure she’s already gotten in to Gotham University, but- “I need to be doing something substantial. Something significant. Like an internship!”  
But doing what!   
“So get an internship. Something in forensic science could probably get you out of seventh period, too,” she did so loathe Ms. G, and if she played this right she could kill two birds with one stone, “You could still have free time to pursue something else,” was Bruce smarter than her, or had she really drank too much, “Hell, I’d suggest trying for the GCPD, that could give you a glimpse of criminal psychology, too. But that’s probably a conflict of interest,” Bruce chuckles.   
Her mouth falls open.   
Why hadn’t she thought of that?   
Didn’t she happen to know someone in forensics at the GCPD?  
She picks up her phone.   
He had a funny name. Enigma. E. Nygma.   
Edward.   
Edward Nygma.   
She taps his name into the search bar.   
He’s written a handful of articles, and used to lecture at the university.   
So he might be willing to take someone under his wing?  
They’d gotten along well enough hadn’t they?   
Certainly well enough he might be swayed.  
She bites her lip, mouth curving.   
Now it was just a matter of who to call first. 

“Daddy?” she makes sure to smile extra wide enough so she sounds extra sweet, “I have an idea of what I’d like now.”

He was here. He was here. She’d missed him so much. It had been a week. A week! No messages, nothing. Victor did not stay in touch when he was in the middle of something that’s why he would message her beforehand. And that was always totally manageable when she didn’t see much of him to begin with. But he’d never had assignments so long before. Certainly not since she’d become a permanent resident and they were going steady.   
Sure it had been a fun week. She and Bruce watched dozens of movies. She eventually taught Bruce how to make a flower crown. They built forts around the mansion of increasingly ludicrous size that Alfred seemed deeply conflicted over. Selina popped in a few times, schooled them both at hide and seek. And she managed to stay on top of her schoolwork. They were just brainstorming ideas for her birthday since she’d heard nothing from her elusive beau. When she finally did.  
“Oh my god!”   
She runs down to him, practically crying.   
She was pathetic.   
If he mentions it she’ll kill him.   
“Oh, just Victor is fine,” he smirks down at her, looking nothing short of glorious in the usual all black.   
She swats at his arm, his smirk only grows.   
“I missed you.”   
She whines, leaning into him until they’re pressed snug against each other.   
“Me too.”  
He admits.  
She bites her lip, runs her hands over his chest and wraps her arms around him.   
She’s feeling very needy.   
His hand finds her waist. The other curls into her hair, his thumb caresses her cheek. At least he seems needy, too.   
“I hear you’re thinking of going into the GCPD,” he gives her a look that might be disapproving, if not for the smirk, “You know if you wanted to play cops and robbers. You could have just asked,” he whispers, raising a bare brow, “I’m sure I could find a pair of handcuffs somewhere.”  
She’s sure he could.   
“Is he going to say no?”  
Was this her father’s attempt at talking her out of it?  
“Well, you certainly know when to ask, don’t you?” Victor continues with the mock disapproval.  
“He said I could ask for anything.”  
“I don’t think he was expecting that.”  
“I think I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t always want what’s expected of me.”   
She gives him a pointed look, arching her brow and glides a finger down his cheek.  
His tongue darts out to lick it. His jaw snaps in an attempt to bite it.   
She traces his jaw, then slides down to tug at the line of pink peeking over his shirt. Her choker. His choker. Theirs?   
She wonders what the poor bastard Victor took care of had thought of that. Had they said something very stupid? Had they lost their tongues for it? She quite likes the idea of having a place even in a part of his life she’s not allowed.   
“No,” Victor purrs in agreement, “My princess is very naughty.”  
He pulls her tighter to him.   
“You don’t mind do you?”   
She gives him her baby-eyed look, where she tilts her chin down, looks up and flutters her lashes just enough.  
“No, I don’t.”   
He shakes his head, a lazy smile on his lips.   
She stops playing.   
“And if I did get an internship there, would you mind?”  
“Not at all. You’re trying for forensics,” she smiles at him, so he’d even listened, “It’s not as if you’ll be holding a gun to my head. Although, you I would forgive.”  
“Oh?”  
She can’t quite picture holding a gun to him. A knife maybe.   
“Depends on how nice you are about it. How well you remember your lessons. If you’re gentle,” he whispers.  
Never one to miss out on making something sound sexual.   
“Would you be gentle?”  
She could imagine him holding a gun to her...strictly for fun of course.   
He cups her cheek and looks at her like she’s some soft precious thing.   
His soft, precious thing.   
“I’m always gentle with you.”   
It takes her a moment to recover from a line like that.   
“Aren’t you supposed to be taking me home?”   
“Traffic’s terrible.”   
He waves a hand at the vast, empty driveway before bringing his lips down on hers.   
Well, it’s not as if there was any need to rush. 

Selina lets out a low whistle.   
“Wow, so when you said I had nothing to worry about. You really meant it,” she lets out an breathy chuckle as (Y/N) continues to lock lips with tall dark and creepy.   
“Yep,” Bruce closes the blinds looking like he just swallowed a dead rat.   
“You don’t approve?”   
“Do you?”  
“Well, I don’t care,” she leans against the ledge.  
Did he?  
“I just think she could do better.”  
“There are much worse killers out their than Victor Zsasz,” not that he wasn’t a scary bastard. But as far as she knew he worked with rules. And under (Y/N) dad so it wasn’t like she was in any danger.   
“There are also non killers she could be happy with.”  
“Yeah, but (Y/N)’s a Falcone. She’s probably safer with him than anyone else,” Selina trails off.   
What was it she’d said? About safety, stability. Was that why she was with him?   
“It still bothers me,” Bruce frowns, “She’s just so...nice. And he’s...I don’t even know where to start with him. He makes tally marks of his kills, on his arm, with a knife!”  
She was nice. Selina frowns. Sure she’d been almost scary the first time they’d met. And Selina didn’t scare easy. But after that talk (Y/N) had been totally pleasant. She’d picked out that dress for her and Bruce’s date. She definitely didn’t have to do that. She could have driven a wedge between them. Could have told him about the lie. But she’d just talked to her and let her take her time. And it was obvious she cared about Bruce. But she never brought it up again, or did any passive aggressive shit, almost like she trusted her to make the right decision. Almost like they were friends.   
“I’ll keep an eye out for her.”  
Wow, that left her mouth before it even went through her head. God, they weren’t actually friends! And (Y/N) was like almost a grown up, she didn’t need any looking after. And Selina certainly didn’t need anyone to look after. She had her hands full taking care of herself. But-  
“You’d do that?” Bruce asks clearly touched.   
She shrugs, looking away.   
“I mean yeah.”  
Whatever, it didn’t have to mean anything.


	18. Chapter 18

She walks into the GCPD. It feels a lot different coming in this time considering the state she came in last time. It’s rather disappointing to find she gets more attention this time wearing her school uniform.   
“Miss Falcone.”  
Oh.  
“Detective Gordon,” she flashes a smile.  
“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” he looked rather grim.   
But then again homicide detective in Gotham must not be a fun job.   
“You don’t seem happy to see me, Detective. Should I be offended?”   
“No, “ Jim smiles, it suits him better, “My apologies, what can I help you with?”  
“I’ve got kind of a weird ask,” Jim’s brows go up, “Not that weird!” she assures him, “Could you show me where I can find Mr. Nygma?”   
Jim’s confusion deepens, but he nods and motions for her to follow him.  
“And would you please call me (Y/N)?”  
She implores him. She’d rather not advertise her bloodline, no matter how dirty the cops. Especially, how dirty the cops.   
“Sure, (Y/N). Right here,” he nods at a door marked Forensics.   
“Thank you Detective.”   
She smiles at him.   
He smiles back before walking away.   
She takes a breath and fixes her hair before knocking on the door.   
“Come in.”  
“Hi,” she steps in.  
The tall forensic scientist blinks at her.   
“I don’t suppose you remember me?”   
She closes the door behind her. 

Ed looks her over.   
She knew him?   
How?  
-The Falcone Girl- The other him looks at him as though supremely done with him.   
Oh, well she looked very different.   
His eyes fall to helplessly to her pleated plaid skirt. His gaze stutters over her very high socks. She looked like she’d climbed out of a magazine. Not that she was bad to look at before. She just wasn’t quite so put together.  
-I hear that happens to kidnapping victims-  
Right. But.  
“What are you doing here?” -Rude!- Other him glares, he was right shit, “I mean-I’m sorry. How can I help you?”  
-Oh, stuttering, much better- Other him rolls his eyes.  
She bites her lip.   
He pointedly avoids looking over at the Other him who he just knows is leering at the girl.   
“I’m actually here to ask you sort of a big favor,” she walks closer and looks up at him all timid, before lighting up, “I brought a bribe!” she raises a white takeout box, “Everybody likes chocolate cake, right? It’s yours even if you say no,” she assures him.  
Somehow he couldn’t see himself saying ‘no’.  
“What’s the favor?”  
“I was wondering if you maybe could use some help around-Not that I think you’re bad at your job. I know you’re good! I looked you up, read your papers.”  
Oh, he rarely met fans. He flushes slightly at the concept.   
-Wonder how eager a fan she is-  
He ignores his talking reflection.  
“So you’re asking me to let you help me?”  
It hardly sounded like a favor.   
“Well, it would be very beneficial for me. See it would be like an unpaid internship type of thing. It could count as a science credit and look good on future applications. Assuming I do well. I’ve actually already been accepted to university and I get good grades,” she pulls out a folder, “School is just rather boring, and your job sounded really interesting! So if you could ever use some free assistance, think of me?” she pleads, voice going up.   
-Say yes- Other him wrings his hands.   
“Well…what do you need from me exactly?”   
“To sign this form so I can show it to my school and get the credit,” she pulls out a sheet from the folder, “And just put me to work!”   
She smiles widely at him.   
He thinks he manages not to look too affected. He pushes up his glasses.  
“When can you work? You have other classes I’m sure.”  
Her eyes light up and he almost has to look away again.   
“My science class is last period. So I’ll be free by 2:10. I can finish all my homework during study hall,” she says mostly to herself, “I will have to be home for dinner at 7:00. I gotta get here so I could be here 2:30 to 6:30 weekdays. Would that work for you?”  
Ed chuckles.   
“Four hours, five days a week is plenty and I don’t have to pay you,” and you’re lovely, “As long as you’re competent I would be thrilled.”  
It would be nice to have company. No one really liked his company here. And she’d liked riddles hadn’t she?  
-And she’s been so pleasant- Other him remarks.  
“Really!” She squeals.   
“Well, we’ll have to get the Commissioner’s permission. But I’m sure we can work something out,” he smiles back at her.   
Her enthusiasm was infectious.   
“Thank you, Mr. Nygma!” she beams at him.  
Bouncing.   
Good lord.   
-Mr. Nygma does sound delicious coming from her-  
He flushes, she doesn’t notice.   
“Oh! This went so well. My number’s in here,” she points to the folder, “Thank you for your time Mr. Nygma. I’ll leave you to your work.”  
She turns to go. And immediately turns back.   
“I forgot to leave you the cake!” she smiles again.   
She has a lovely smile.   
Not as pretty as Ms. Kringle but-  
-How would you know?-The Other him raises a brow -Ms. Kringle doesn’t smile at us- 

He flips through the folder later. The cake is delicious. And a very nice touch even though he didn’t need further convincing.   
-And just think about all the other benefits- Other him smirks.   
It infuriates him that this thing that looks like him and sounds like him won’t leave him and is so completely deplorable.   
And yet hard to completely disagree with.   
Ed huffs.   
“If we do this you’ll need to behave yourself. I’m not agreeing to anything if you’re going to put her in danger.”  
-You think I would let you say no?-  
“I’m still the one in control.”  
-You think so?-  
“I know so,” he insists.   
-Then you must know I’m not making you feel anything towards her. That’s all you-  
It was only attraction. She’s very pretty and he noticed. It was hard to miss.   
“I like Ms. Kringle.”  
That he was certain.   
-Sure-The Other him rolls his eyes -and what do you like about Ms. Kringle besides how pretty she is?-  
“Ms. Kringle is very kind-”  
-Not to us. She can barely fake a smile-  
The Other him gives him a pitying look. It’s worse somehow than the leer.   
-How is it better to waste more time on her than a girl who likes you, smiles at you, admires you-  
“Yes, girl,” Ed glares at the Other him who sighs.   
-Look, you heard her. You’d be doing her a favor. And you know I have no interest in hurting her…At the end of day Eddie, you know we’re the same. I’m just better. This is a great opportunity for us and for her. So say yes Eddie. You won’t be able to keep me on a leash forever. It’s in your best interest to keep me happy-  
His chest tightens at the threat.   
But people talked to themselves all the time.  
It didn’t mean he was crazy.


	19. Chapter 19

Jim watches (Y/N) Falcone step out of the Commissioner’s office. There’s a pep in her step. She smiles at him as they cross paths.   
What was she doing here again?   
It was odd enough that she came in looking for Nygma yesterday. No one came looking for Nygma. And Falcone surely wouldn’t go so far as to send his little girl still in her school uniform to do his dirty work when he had no problem sending Victor Zsasz.   
“What was that about?” he asks, knocking on Essen’s door.   
“We just got a new intern.”  
Jim blinks once, twice.   
“You can’t be serious,” he shuts the door, “The Falcone girl?”   
Essen sighs.   
“She’s just a girl, Gordon.”  
Well, sure but she was, there was no denying how young she was. But she also Carmine Falcone’s daughter.   
“She likes forensics,” Essen gives him a tired smile.   
Well, at least that explained Nygma.   
Jim rubs his eyes.  
Stranger things have happened. 

“I can’t believe you. The GCPD,” Bruce gasps, palming the table, “I was joking (Y/N)!”  
“Well, I thought it was a great idea.”   
“Why did they even allow this?”  
“It’s Gotham. They’ve allowed worse,” this wasn’t that big a deal, “Besides, when I make up my mind things fall into place. I make them.”  
It wasn’t so hard, people weren’t so complicated. She had it in her to be charming. And other things to work in her favor if that were ever to fail. She didn’t know what he was so surprised about.   
“You’re fucking terrifying.”  
“Good thing I like you then,” she smiles fondly at him.   
“Your father didn’t have anything to say?”   
“He said happy birthday,” she shrugs.   
Though not very happily.   
The actual day had yet to pass. There would be celebrations no doubt. But she was (Y/N) Falcone and she wanted this now.   
Bruce narrows his eyes.  
“You’re diabolical,” she doesn’t bother hiding her look of delight, it’s really more of a compliment than anything, and he knew her well enough now, “Victor doesn’t mind?”   
“Not at all,” not if his gift was anything to go by.  
She hides her wicked grin with the lip of her cup. She now had some very nice handcuffs.   
Bruce’s face scrunches at her gleaming eyes.   
“Don’t tell me,” he pleads.   
“I wasn’t gonna,” she kicks him under the table, baby Bruce just didn’t appreciate things like gold handcuffs, and she liked how innocent he was, he should be innocent to some things at least, she shifts, ready for gossip, “So what’d you do with Selina after I left?”   
Bruce gives her a disapproving look.   
“Nothing on par with what you and Victor were doing in my driveway.”  
Shit.   
“You saw that?”   
“You didn’t even wait to get in the car!”   
She takes a long sip from her drink.  
Good thing they hadn’t gone past second base. 

She was competent it turns out. Cleaning up was doubly efficient with her. While he worked she followed his every move, pink notebook in hand. Questions on her lips and often the end of her purple pen.   
The Other him greatly enjoyed that particular quirk. And his own gaze fell often to the pink of her mouth despite his determined interest in Ms. Kringle.   
It was just animal urges, he assured himself. The Other him’s corruptive influence.   
Not him.   
It was nice having such an attentive student. Even when he gave lectures it was rare to teach many actually interested. That’s why he stopped. But she was so admiring. Her large eyes so wide, and given their difference in height she was always looking up at him.   
-Just think of what else we could teach her- The Other suggests with devious intent.   
An image rushes to him, her looking up at him with the same wide-eyed admiration but on her knees, mouth closing around his hard-  
He knocks over a tray.   
“Shit,” he swears, flushing from his neck to his hairline.   
The Other him was really getting in the way of things. He’d been behaving relatively well, surprisingly less interruptive than he was than when it came to previous interactions. But every once in a while he’d throw him completely off kilter.   
“Relax Mr. Nygma,” her lilting voice pulls his focus back.  
She leans down.   
He draws a sharp breath. Even his mirror is quiet as they both fix their gaze on the supple flesh of her thigh as her skirt rides.   
“We all drop things,” she sets the tray back on the table.   
She was nicer than Ms. Kringle Ed couldn’t help but notice.   
The one thing he wasn’t really looking forward to was talking to the detectives. Gordon was pleasant but Bullock never failed to bring down his mood. He tried so hard to be chipper and make things enjoyable, give them a little riddle. Lighten the mood. He knew how hard the job could be. But no one ever seemed to appreciate his efforts and Bullock was especially harsh.   
Today was no exception. 

Bullock was being his usual self and Jim had long given up on correcting his partner’s bad behavior. Even if he felt a twinge sympathy for Nygma, the forensic scientist just chose the worst time to give riddles. But he was much more distracted by the Falcone girl. She certainly didn’t seem like she had any motives besides learning. He had yet to see her leave Nygma’s side and she always had that notebook with her.   
She was however starting to scowl.   
“Excuse you?”   
She glares at Bullock, eyes sharp with indignation.   
Jim blinks.   
What’d he miss?  
“Can I help you little lady?” Bullock asks with his usual charm.   
Jim groans internally.   
“Yeah,” she cocks her head, “Are you trying to be an asshole or does it just come naturally?”  
Jim’s brows go way way up.   
“Says the little girl talking back to a senior detective,” Jim gapes at the exchange, this was almost definitely not good, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?”

Her eyes narrow.   
So she’s just been demoted from little lady to little girl. Her jaw sets, lips purse.   
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how respect works?” she snaps at the old man, “You imply I’m rude but so far all you’ve done is insult your far more accomplished colleague who’s work is the ONLY reason you can do your job,” Nygma makes some flustered noise beside her, she keeps her focus on Bullock, “If you can’t figure out how to work your mouth to form an actual request you can read the notes,” she slams the file to his chest, “They’re very thorough I assure you,” she had spectacular handwriting, “I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you, Mr. Senior Detective.”

Shock is clear on all their faces as she walks away.   
-Ms. Kringle ever do that?-  
“What the fuck kind of intern was that! She just-”  
“Let it go, Harvey. Trust me.”

Jim finds her sometime after, without Nygma. He didn’t think she was the vengeful type. But after Barbara well, clearly he wasn’t the best judge. And she had the potential to do a lot more damage given her connections.  
“(Y/N),” she fixes him with a look of mild annoyance, “I'm sorry, Harvey’s an asshole. It’s a stressful job and he has a bad personality.”  
She raises an arched brow.   
“I don’t see how any of those things justify the way he treats Mr. Nygma. Or why you are apologizing to me,” her voice lowers.  
She looks pointedly at him.   
Well, he could appreciate that she cared so much. Bullock’s attitude had certainly rubbed him wrong. But mostly it was his complacency to the rampant organized crime in this city. And she was the daughter of the head of the snake.   
“It would be a lot easier if Nygma could just give us the information we need that he has when we ask for it. Instead of giving it in the form of riddles.”   
She looks unimpressed, even disappointed.   
“Have you considered maybe communicating that?”   
Jim flounders. Not in so many words.   
He frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. It was rather unfair, their treatment of Nygma.   
“I’ll talk to my guy if you talk to your guy,” he offers.  
“Sure,” she shrugs, turning to go.   
“It’s not everyday people stand up to Bullock like that. I don’t think I handled him so well when I first met him.”  
He’d talked back and stood in fierce opposition. But that hadn’t actually done him much good. It was almost entirely luck and her father that left him standing. As much as he hated to admit that.   
“Well,” she pauses, “not everybody can be me.”  
“No,” he agrees, “You’re something else.”  
Her mouth curves. 

Victor’s leaning against the car, mouth spreading into a smirk when she steps out of the GCPD.   
“Hi honey,” one hand takes her bag, the other finds her waist, “How was your day?”

Ed frowns as he squints through the window.  
-Well, at least we know she likes older guys-  
His frown deepens. That wasn’t. He wasn’t jealous.   
-Victor Zsasz- his mirror murmurs.  
Ed remembers him. He had picked her the first time. He had seemed possessive of her even then.   
Though, that choker hadn’t been there the first time they’d met.   
Ed thinks back to the dangling silver heart. It was engraved. He hadn’t focused much on her jewelry but they were close enough throughout the day he could recall a swirling V and a Z.   
So it must be serious.   
All the more reason he should continue his pursuit of Ms. Kringle.   
(Y/N) was much too young. And attached. Perhaps she could be a very good friend. She was so nice. Even in front of other people. Even defending him. But much too young. High school!   
There was no way he could possibly entertain the idea.  
His mirror raises an accusing brow. Hadn’t they spent the better part of the day entertaining the idea?  
And attached. He continues with his train of thought.   
Ms. Kringle was clearly much better suited. And he had liked her for so long. And wasn’t she currently single? She hadn’t been in some time. Clearly, he should continue his efforts. Double his efforts!   
The Other him does nothing but glare at him while he finishes up.   
There is little left to do.   
She was very competent.


	20. Chapter 20

“What’s it like working under Nygma?” some rando leans in, clearly the gossiping type.  
“Great,” she shrugs, somewhat distracted by the violent magenta of the woman’s lips, “Why do you ask?”  
“He’s been chasin’ after Kristen for like, forever. I was just you know wondering. Cuz like you’re so young,” she whispers, “I mean Kristen’s pretty weirded out, ya know? The guy cannot take a hint and he’s so persistent.”  
“Right,” (Y/N) didn’t like her tone, but she did seem to have good intentions, “Thanks.”

Kristen Kringle was the records lady. She had kinda of a hot librarian vibe with her pointy glasses and flirty sixties get-up. (Y/N) could totally see them together. Two tall, skinny, pretty nerds. Although personally she didn’t get the allure of Ms. Kringle when there was a bombshell like Lee. But it hardly mattered. Kristen was clearly not interested and Ed seemed incapable of reaching that understanding on his own.   
It was none of her business.   
She was gonna get involved anyway.   
Because as uncool as it was that Ed was making this woman uncomfortable with his pursuit. It was also pretty clear no one had actually explained to him why. She never outright rejected him. And all the negative comments he’d received from others were of the usual vein about his supposed freak nature not of what was problematic about his behavior. He didn’t know any better. Probably had some delusion of their compatibility. But Ed wasn’t stupid. If he just tried to actually talk to her he could surely figure out his energy could be better spent elsewhere. He had a lot to offer, he was just chasing the wrong target.   
He just needed a little nudge to see that. 

“Hey,” she leans over the table and gets his full attention right away, “You like that records lady right?” Ed blushes deep pink in confirmation, “Why?”   
“What do you mean?” he pushes at his glasses.  
“I mean, why are you so hung up on her? I get the physical aspect, obviously,” she rests her chin on her hand, “she’s very pretty. But you don’t want to be with someone just cuz they’re pretty. So why do you like her?”   
“I-” Edward frowns, trailing off, eyes flicking to the side like he did sometimes.   
Whatever, maybe there was something very interesting in the blank space to his side.   
“I think you should talk to her,” Ed looks back, “Like a real conversation. Not just to hit on her. I mean I see you two talking but it never lasts very long. If you can’t even hold a conversation how do you expect there to be any success in a relationship or even on a date? I know I’m overstepping,” she leans back, “I swear I’m not trying to be mean or anything. I just think you should think about that,” Ed looks appropriately contemplative, “I could help you,” she offers, “Buy you a few minutes. Think of it as…an experiment,” those were terms he could surely understand, “If it fails, there are plenty of other pretty women, you know?”   
Like Lee, she thinks, seriously judging his taste. 

“Kristen, hey!”   
She walks over with a wide smile. One the redhead returns but it falters at the sight of Ed behind her.   
Jeez.   
“Ms. Kringle,” he stays at least a reasonable space away.   
“I can’t talk, I have files to hand out.”   
She did seem more than a little relieved with the excuse, which made her feel a little bad about pulling this stunt. But getting this over with would be better in the long run.   
“Oh! Could I help?” she bounces on her feet, making her eyes go wide, “I’ve actually been hoping for an excuse to get better acquainted with everyone. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”   
Offering isn’t enough, you really have to make it clear they’d be helping you by doing less. It’s pretty much impossible to say no to that. Ed had better not fuck this up. She was not doing this again. She aimed to use her powers for good.   
Kristen blinks at her, mouth somewhere between a smile and a grimace.   
“These go to Alvarez.”   
She hands over the folders, eyes drifting to Ed.   
Alvarez.  
Her brows go up.   
Oh, this was too good. 

She should have known.   
Her eyes rake him up and down.   
Victor had said he was handsome. And he was doubtlessly the best looking cop in the precinct.   
She must really adore Victor not to have noticed him sooner.   
She saunters over.   
“Hi,” she leans against his desk, “Officer Alvarez?” dark eyes flick up to meet hers, “These are for you,” she flashes a million dollar smile. 

(Y/N) was doing him a huge favor. Kind of a weird favor. But this was the sort of things friends did and they were certainly friendly.   
His mirror image makes a noise of agreement, eyes fixed on her retreating figure.   
His eyes narrow.   
Was it just him or was her skirt swaying more than usual?  
He looks back to Ms. Kringle.   
Ms. Kringle is beautiful, capable and the greens she wore brought out the red in the auburn of her hair so well. She’s everything he’s ever wanted.   
-She doesn’t seem at all willing to take suggestions-  
His mirror reminds him.   
She was rather angry that time he tried to help her with her filing system. But perhaps he had overstepped.   
Still it was a flaw that could be remedied.   
-One (Y/N) doesn’t have but sure obsess over Kringle- His mirror grumbles.   
Ms. Kringle was trying to politely extract herself from the conversation. They were talking about something. He had no idea what. Just that (Y/N) was smiling coyly at Alvarez, looking delectable.   
-Doesn’t she always-  
Had Kristen always frowned so much speaking to him?   
Was it really such a chore? He used to think that’s just how conversations went. He had so few smooth interactions. But he never had that problem talking with (Y/N). Now other conversations seemed incredibly lacking. Even this one.   
He doesn’t hear her laugh at this distance. But he sees her. Eyes sparkling, lips parting. She hides her grin behind a folder and shifts, looking so absolutely like a schoolgirl with a crush.   
Which is ridiculous, everyone knew by now she was with Zsasz, and happily so. He picked her up every goddamn day. She smiled at her phone between breaks. She was probably just talking to Alvarez the way she did with everyone, absolutely charmingly.   
So why was he so fucking angry?  
And why was Ms. Kringle looking so distressed? Had he really made her so uncomfortable? He’d always assumed she was shy, that his attempts flustered her. But not to a point it actually bothered her to this extent. But perhaps it was very unfair to have pursued her so aggressively when she didn’t show equal interest.   
-Or any interest-  
Perhaps he should have taken all of those dismissals as rejections.   
She doesn’t even like riddles.   
-She doesn’t even like riddles!-   
This sucked. But so did all of their past interactions. Had they ever spoken longer than a minute about anything? Let alone anything interesting. Had she ever been half as pleasant as (Y/N)?  
-You really gotta ask?-  
No.   
He looks back over to (Y/N).  
She’s leaning over Alvarez’s desk, mouth curved like she means to tell him a secret, looking sly and sugar sweet. Alvarez looks alarmed and enraptured and honestly who can blame him. Ed can barely look away and there’s twenty feet between them not to mention Ms. Kringle. Who really is very pretty.  
But he’s not so very compelled anymore.   
-Honestly amazed you held on so long-  
Ed frowns.   
He agrees.   
“Ms. Kringle,” she actually looks like she’s bracing herself at the sound of him saying her name, how had he been so blind to this, “I would like to apologize for causing any discomfort. I realize I may have made your job difficult in my pursuit. That was never my intention. And I hope we can be friends,” he offers his hand to shake.   
She takes it and gives him an earnest smile. It’s lovely. And though he is still feels fondly and the symmetry of her face puts him at ease, it’s not quite as exciting he’d imagined it.   
“I’d like that Mr. Nygma,” she brushes at her perfectly set hair, “I’ve actually started seeing Tom.”  
Tom.   
“Officer Dougherty?”  
“Yes.”  
“Congratulations.”   
-Isn’t Dougherty a massive douche?-  
Utterly.  
“Thank you,” Ms. Kringle maintains a pleasant smile.   
Now that he’s seen her relaxed, it was clear how very stressed she always was before.   
He feels rather badly.   
His eyes flick back over to (Y/N) who’s still talking with Alvarez. That makes him feel worse.   
-If she’s going to behave badly it should be with us-  
She’s not behaving badly.   
She meets his gaze, and raises one perfectly arched brow.   
He smiles widely at her.   
“I should get back to work,” he looks back to Ms. Kringle.  
“Yeah, me too,” she leans in the direction of the archives, “Your assistant is adorable.”  
-Assistant-The Other him purrs the word.   
Images of her in a lab coat and nothing else-  
That is not up to safety standard.   
His mirror sends him a sharp glare.   
“(Y/N)’s an intern. But yes, she is lovely.”   
-And she’ll be eighteen soon-  
He nearly chokes at that, but manages to make his way back to his office.   
She’s waiting, leaning by the door.   
“So how’d it go? You get your answer?”   
“Yes.”  
“She said yes?” (Y/N) looks disbelieving.

Well, they actually did look almost friendly at the end. Still. Not what she expected.  
“I told her I would like to be friends. And she said she would like that, too.”  
And he was happy with that?  
“Weren’t you like madly in love with her a minute ago?” 

She takes a step closer, into his space. Something everyone else seemed to avoid. But (Y/N) didn’t abide by unspoken rules. There is something very nice about their familiarity. He didn’t have that with anyone else. It was such a gift really, just to have her as a friend.   
-Are you fucking-  
“God,” she raises a brow, lips quirking at the ends, “What’d she say?”   
“Nothing. We didn’t talk about much of anything.”  
She steps back.   
He’s half disappointed.   
“Not really your type, huh?”  
She looks unsurprised. Almost smug.   
“No…she’s taken, too.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah, Dougherty.”  
“Dougherty?” she grimaces, somehow still managing to look darling, “Eww.”   
Of course he found Dougherty distasteful. But he seemed to be rather appealing to women around the office.   
“Not your type?”   
He’s rather curious.   
“No, I already got mine.”  
Right, Zsasz.   
What type even is Zsasz?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this isn't quite as fun as usual :( And I am spending a lot of time with Nygma. Should I tag their relationship? I can't decide.  
> But it's back to Zsasz in the next one. The birthday...so exciting.   
> Also it is canon that Victor thinks Alvarez is handsome. I believe his exact words were "You guys want me strip searched? I'd let Alvarez do it. He's handsome." I only know this bc I saw it in an fmv, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbvdJlfyqVY it's my fav fanedit of him, really well done.  
> Anyways, I couldn't not play with that.


	21. Chapter 21

“You’re not coming to my birthday party? Bruce, that is a criminal offense!”   
“I know, I know. I swear I will make it up to you.”  
“You swear?”  
“How bad can it be?”   
“My brother is going to be there.”  
“Oh.”  
“Mhmm.”  
“I will make it up. I prom-”  
She slams the phone down and flops on her bed.   
“Want me to kill him?”   
She’s tempted to say yes. But Victor would actually do it.   
“No,” she grumbles.  
“You sure? I’d do it for free.”  
“For free?”   
Victor did not work for free. Not even for her father.   
“Well, for you.”  
He quirks his brow, standing over her.   
She smiles and drags him down by his tie.   
He falls willingly over her, mouth hot against hers. She pulls him closer. She wants him on her. Not just above her. Not just the tease. They didn’t have to be careful anymore. She arches up, wraps her legs around him, rubs against him. She knew he wanted her, too.   
In fact she could feel the proof.   
He pulls away.  
It’s so unexpected she to doesn’t even manage to glare. Just stares at him mouth open.   
“You should probably start getting ready.”  
What the fu-

“Mario!”  
“(Y/N)!”  
They exclaim, false smiles spread on their faces as they embrace.   
“You know just because you’re legal now doesn’t mean you should dress like a whore.”  
He kisses her cheek.   
“You know just because you have a mouth doesn’t mean you should open it.”  
She pulls away, lips still set in a plastic grin.   
Their father pulls him aside.   
She wanders off.  
It’s beautiful. The food, the decor, the massive layered cake, and everyone is dressed to the nines. But none of these people are her friends. They’re here for her father’s sake. Mario too is here at least partly out of obligation. But he was certainly here for her, too. Never one to miss an opportunity to ruin her night.   
The only person she did actually want here was across the room. And he was being weird.   
Celebrations are only as fun as the company.   
She downs another glass of champagne. Now that she was eighteen she didn’t have to hide it anymore. But the balcony is her go to anti social nook.   
And they did have a nice view.   
“What no friends?”   
Mario sidles up to her. He knows just what wound to rub salt in, doesn’t he?  
“I will stab you.”  
“Sis,” he chuckles, drawing out the word, “you were taught better manners than that.”  
“Pretty sure it’s ruder not to warn you.”  
“You should be nicer,” he leans against the wall, “I got you a present.”  
“I don’t want anything from you.” She didn’t want anything from any of these people.   
She kind of just wanted to finally fuck her boyfriend.   
“I couldn’t possibly show up empty-handed.”   
That was true. Dad would kill him.   
She side-eyes the little black box he pulls out of his suit jacket.   
She couldn’t possibly refuse. He would tell on her. But what she did with it after was her business.   
She takes it. Pops the lid.   
A massive pair of crystal chandelier earrings wink at her against red satin.   
“These are ridiculous.”   
“They’re expensive.”  
“They look it.”   
What was he playing at?  
“I am a top surgeon.” Oh, like she could forget.   
“Where would I even wear these?”  
“You could wear them now. Of course they might clash a bit with the choker.”  
Oh, she smiles. That explains it. She closes the lid.   
“I think I’d better just put them away for safe keeping.”  
She could almost thank him for giving her a reason to hole up in her room.   
She turns to leave.  
He grabs her arm.   
She sees the black line at the edge of her vision tense.   
At least he was paying attention despite his sudden lack of interest in deflowering her.   
“How is he?”   
Mario’s voice drips like oil.   
“Well, tonight I think he’s rather trigger happy.”  
She hopes anyway. She can certainly think of worse things. There is just something so irritating about Mario’s face. But she could probably stand to look at it if it were horribly mutilated with bullets.   
It’s really too bad Dad loves him.  
He grins at her, teeth flashing.   
“Happy birthday.”  
“Thanks.”  
His hold loosens.   
She leaves him. 

“I’ll be in my room,” she stops in front of Victor.  
She hopes for a smirk, some teasing remark along the lines of, “Is that an invitation?” Or maybe a possessive hand on her arm, replacing her brother’s. Not-  
“You haven’t even had any cake yet.”   
She had been looking forward to the cake.   
That he remembers?  
“Get me some then,” she walks off. 

She kicks off her shoes before flopping on her bed once again.   
Who knew she would actually have to wait for Victor Zsasz to make a move?   
The waiting was supposed to be over. She’d half expected to wake with his head between her legs. Or for him to show up with a cupcake at midnight and ravish her. Not whatever this was. This sucked.  
Bruce wasn’t even around to make faces while she complained about it. And she’s mad at him too.   
She growls into a pillow.   
Something taps against her window.   
She jumps into action.   
Rolls off the bed, lunges for her gun.  
She is not getting kidnapped again.   
The gun has a certain heaviness that comes with lack of use. But she knows what to do.   
“Whoa!”  
Wide green eyes blink at her, arms raised, framing the wild curls falling out of her hood.  
“Selina?”   
A giddy laugh bubbles through her, her chest a churning a cocktail of adrenaline and relief.   
“Holy shit!” she lowers the gun, “You can’t just sneak into my house. You’ll get shot.”  
“Well I’m good so far. And I was kinda hoping you would keep me that way.”  
Selina settles on her bed without invitation.   
“You really just walk around acting like you’ve got nine lives Kit Cat?” she shoves the gun back in her nightstand.

“You’re really running from your own party?”   
That was (Y/N)’s thing, wasn’t it? She certainly looked glamorous enough to fit in.   
“Those people aren’t my friends.”  
Selina’s tempted to ask if they are. But it’s such a weird thing to ask. And no matter what the answer, one of them would probably wind up offended.  
“Do you feel any different?”   
Eighteen’s like a big deal. Hell, she’s been waiting to be eighteen forever.   
(Y/N) shakes her head.   
“I kinda thought I would. But it’s just like any other day.”  
“Well there’s cake.”  
She’d seen the giant thing through the window.   
“Mmm.”   
“You have had your cake?”   
She hadn’t actually seen her eat any of it. Just saw her drink a whole bunch of champagne.   
“No. But Victor’s sneaking me some.”  
Oh.  
“Guess he’s not all bad.”  
“Nobody’s all bad.”  
“Not even Mario?” (Y/N)’s expression sours, “What’d he give you anyway?”   
From what she saw her face doing it had to be something interesting. (Y/N) tosses her the box.  
“Holy shit!”  
Selina had never seen jewelry like this. The urge to pocket it is alarming. But she’s not about to steal from Don Falcone’s daughter in her house. Bruce just asked for his things back. The mob wouldn’t be quite so chill about her sticky fingers. And they were kind of friends. Still, her hands shake a little when she moves to give it back.   
(Y/N) waves a dismissive hand.   
“Keep em.”  
“Are you serious?”   
Her voice cracks. She had to be joking. These had to be so expensive!  
“I don’t want them.”   
Well, she wasn’t going to ask twice.   
Selina shoves the box in her pocket.   
“Thanks.”   
She’d be set for at least a month with these.   
“Thanks for coming. Though you should really try the door next time.”  
“Not really dressed for something like this.”   
She tugs at her leather ensemble. She’d thought about it, but she’d stick out like a sore thumb down there. Hell, she stuck out in here, too.   
There were nice rooms and then there was (Y/N)’s room.   
“Don’t be silly. You’re very stylish.”   
Not what she meant, but it’s hard not to feel assured when it’s (Y/N).   
She bites her lip. She should probably mention, the way he’d been babbling about it.   
“Bruce is sorry-”  
“Are you here on his account or mine?” (Y/N) sounds so sharply disappointed she blinks twice.   
“Yours.”  
“Then don’t say that. I’ll accept his apology when I hear it from him.”  
The door opens and Selina finds herself staring down the barrel of another gun.   
There is nothing reassuring about Victor Zsasz.  
“This is Cat. She’s a friend of mine.”   
The gun goes back in his holster.   
Selina takes a breath.   
Wait-  
Friend?   
“I only grabbed two slices.”  
He raises two massive plates of cake.  
“She can have mine.”  
“She can’t have yours, it’s your birthday.”  
He shoves his plate at her, frowning.   
She takes it, for lack of better options. It did look good. But she’s not sure if eating this guy’s cake is something she should actually do.   
There is something so unnerving about him.   
But (Y/N) smiles at him. And his mouth immediately curves.   
He sits at the end of her bed, hand on her ankle, fingers tracing circles into her stockings.   
It’s far from inappropriate, but there is something so intimate about the action. And the way they’re looking at each other. At least now she’s pretty much positive (Y/N)’s with him because she wants to be.   
Selina feels pretty much forgotten. Which she doesn’t mind but if they actually forget about her and start getting it on. Well, she could live without seeing that.   
“Well, I think I’ll go.”  
“I’ll walk you out.”  
“Her legs work fine.”  
“She came in through the window.”  
She could go out the window again. But she didn’t think she wanted to try her luck facing a third gun.   
“Girl, leather jacket coming downstairs, do not shoot,” Victor frowns, muttering into a comm, “And who the fuck is working perimeter?”  
“Victor...”  
“Princess...” that dangerous edge returns to him, “Your safety is my concern.”  
“Deal with it tomorrow,” (Y/N) matches his unforgiving tone.   
They stare each other down.   
Victor relents, putting away the comm.   
He looks over at her confused.   
“You’re still here.”  
(Y/N) smacks him.  
“Don’t be rude!”  
“I’m not being rude. She said she was leaving.”   
“Yes! I’m leaving,” she jumps off the bed, “Thank you. Happy birthday.”   
She waves at the door.   
Oh god, when did she turn into such a dork?   
She’s blaming Bruce.   
(Y/N) just smiles and waves back. 

Alone again.   
He is not running off this time. She takes one last bite of her cake and sets it aside.   
“No good?”   
Victor quirks his brow.   
She had to give it to him. He was being very thoughtful today. It was making being mad at him about not fucking her difficult. But she manages.   
She pounces on him.   
“You have been making me wait all day. I could strangle you.”   
Her fingers curve around his neck.   
Victor shifts back into familiar territory. Mouth stretching into a smirk.   
“I was trying to be a gentleman. Thought it might be in bad taste if I waited by your door for the clock to strike twelve.”  
Goddamn, like she was with him for his virtue. And if he was in any way a gentleman he wouldn’t be with her at all.   
“Victor,” she bites out his name, “I like that you’re perverted,” she says the word like she means to kiss him with it, “a brute,” she slides off him, “a scoundrel,” she runs her hands down her neck, down her chest, lying back, “a villain,” she presses her foot against his chest, “I’ve wanted you, forever,” she stares him down, resting on her folded arms, “Finally, I can have you and you decide to be a gentleman,” she raises a brow, “Are you fucking kidding me?”   
Humor sparkles in his dark eyes.   
He just loves getting her riled up.   
The bastard.   
“Language, Princess,” he scolds, “A good girl shouldn’t have such a filthy mouth.”  
“A gentleman shouldn’t be such a tease,” she argues.   
“This coming from you?”   
Well, he started it!   
She’s tempted to kick him but his hand wraps around her heel. It runs from her ankle to her calf, under her knee, down her thigh.   
He sits up drawing closer as his hand draws closer, disappearing under her dress.   
His eyes never leave hers as her stockings come off.   
One hand moves to tug down the front of her dress, the other spreads her thighs. He’s between her legs now.   
Finally.   
She moves to unbutton his shirt.   
He stops her, hand closing around her wrists. A blink of an eye and she’s flat on her back, hands above her head. He’s looming over her, mouth a teasing grin.   
“What’s the rush? You’ve wanted me forever. You can wait a few more minutes can’t you?”  
Oh, he was going to be an asshole.   
Of course.   
She glares at him, heaving. His eyes fall to her flushed, rising chest.   
“Relax,” he purrs, free hand groping her as he tugs her dress past her waist, past her hips and off.   
It bleeds into the floor, a puddle of silk.   
Her lips part.   
His finger hooks into the waist of her panties. She gasps when his knuckles brush against her slit.  
Her panties join her dress. 

“Victor! God! Please!”   
He’s done nothing but rub his cock between her slick folds. Done nothing but torture her with the promise of it. It’s been more than a few minutes.  
She could kill him.   
She’s flushed all over. Writhing with pleasure, seething with rage and utterly desperate. The absolute nerve of this bastard. He was still wearing his fucking suit looking absolutely fucking pristine as he drags his cock wet against her slick, setting her on fucking fire.   
“Please what?”   
He edges the tip teasingly towards her center. She lets out another strangled gasp, bucking uselessly against him.   
“Please fuck me!”  
She whimpers, if she sounded pathetically needy enough maybe he’d have some fucking mercy.   
She didn’t have to try very hard to manage that.   
But they’re not the right words she can tell. He wanted the right words. As if she could have one useful coherent thought when he’s unraveling her like this.   
“Hmm.”  
He murmurs, considering, making no move to remedy her situation.   
“If you don’t put your cock in me now,” she says through clenched teeth.  
“You’ll what? Cry?” he grinds against her and she does cry out.  
“Don’t be mean!”   
“I thought you wanted the villain?”   
He throws her words back at her.  
“Yes, but want you in me!”   
She could not possibly be more clear about that.   
“Relax,” he purrs, squeezing her breast, looking like an absolute demon.   
He could drag this on all night. Having her crying, squirming, begging, beneath him would get him off just fine.   
She would die.   
“Victor please,” she pleads, her neck an arch as she grinds her mess of hair further into her pillow.   
She has a sudden moment of clarity.   
“I’m yours,” the words leave her in one shuddering breath.   
His torturous strokes stutter and satisfaction rolls off of him in waves.   
Of course, she should have known those would be the right words.   
“I’m yours,” she repeats, “Make me yours.”

They both groan when he sinks into her.


	22. Chapter 22

“Jesus Victor! I look like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting.”  
She gapes at her reflection.   
There was a purpling trail of love bites that started at the edge of her jaw and ended past her ribs.  
School was closed today and they had taken advantage of that. But she still had the internship later.  
She huffs and fumbles through her vanity drawers for her concealer. Victor was really putting a dent in her makeup supply. She squints at the near empty bottle.   
“Don’t you dare,” he glares from the bed, “You’re mine remember.”  
Oh great, he was just going to hold that over her forever.   
“I can’t possibly go out like this.”  
She glares back at him.   
“Don’t go out then.”  
He pats the bed pointedly.   
“I have things to do.”  
Sure they still had plenty of time. It was only just barely noon.   
But who knows when she’d be able to get out of bed if she were to join him now.   
“Well, you’re not covering up,” he says with stubborn finality.   
Her eyes narrow.   
“Then you’re getting some new marks, too.”  
She had been entirely too nice. Sure she’d made a scratching post out of his back and chest, and had not held back. But none of those pretty pink lines would show over his nice suits.   
She really ought to have made him hurt a little more.   
A lot more.   
God knows he’s into that.   
“Bring it on baby.”  
He smirks, always interested to fan her flames.   
She grabs a knife.  
Victor’s eyes light up.   
“Oh, don’t tease.”   
“It’s your own fault.”  
She shakes her head, strutting over.  
“My marks aren’t permanent.”  
He points out. It’s not much of an argument. They both know he would like them to be. They practically were the way he replaced the old with new every chance he got. And now he was going to be even more insufferable.   
Maybe if he wasn’t so clearly interested in what she planned to carve into him he’d be more convincing.   
“But you’re a repeat offender,” she widens her eyes, holding the knife to her chest, and tilts her head, “Those are the worst kind.”  
“Playing are we?”  
His eyes rake up her figure, mouth in an appreciative grin.   
“We’re always playing,” she smiles back and moves to straddle him, rocking against his half hard cock as she presses the blade’s edge to his chest, “Scream if you want me to stop.”  
“And if I want you to keep going?”  
“Beg of course. It’s your turn to beg.”

Victor lets her get half a step to the precinct door before he’s on her again. Pushing her up against the wall, sucking his marks darker as he presses against her. One hand combing through her hair, the other tight around her waist.   
She lets out a breathy laugh.   
“If I knew you were going to be so clingy-”  
He pulls away, frowning.   
“You were literally begging for my cock.”  
He feels the need to remind her.   
She had made quite a symphony, too.   
“Still,” she giggles, looking beyond smug, “Who knew Victor Zsasz could be so needy?”  
“No one will believe you.”  
“Honey, we’re in public.”  
“Well, you’re mine,” he whispers against her lips before giving her another bruising kiss.   
She blinks up at him, pupil blown. Lips swollen, pink, wet and parted. Chest heaving.   
She’s entirely too delicious to look at right now.   
As much as he’d like every man in her life to see the marks he’d left that so loudly declared she was his, right now he’d much rather have her to himself.   
He was getting hard again just thinking about her writhing beneath him. But a continuation of this morning would be just as well. So long as they wind up entwined.   
Hell, they could make do with the car. Make use of those tinted windows.   
“Victor,” she moans, rubbing against him.   
Her swollen lips pouting as her neck arches back.   
He lets out a sound, half a snarl, half a groan.   
“Surely, you can miss one day,” he says through clenched teeth, “They’re understanding people.”   
He could certainly convince them to be understanding.   
“We’re standing a foot from the door.”   
“You don’t even need to walk out to leave.”  
She doesn’t answer. But he can tell he’s going to win this one. She’s not really fighting to win.   
“I don’t want to take advantage,” she bits her lip.   
“But I want to take advantage of you,” he tightens his grip on her hips.   
She lets out a breathy sigh, that sounds very nearly a whine and glares at him with no real venom.   
“Promise?”   
God, how does she sound so damn good?  
“Oh, I promise Princess.”   
He wraps her legs around his waist.   
“What should I tell them?”  
“Tell them you can’t walk. That might not even be a lie when I’m through with you.”  
“Victor!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a lot shorter than my chapters have been and it is kinda filler too. But I wanted to soak in their sappy smutty bubble for a little while. I mean it does make sense right? Of course these two would be all over each other.


	23. Chapter 23

She’s never late.   
Ed’s starting to worry. Which is silly, she’s well taken care of.   
But it is Gotham.   
His finger hovers over her contact in his phone. It was there for a reason. She’d given it so he could use it. But actually using it felt daunting.  
-Would you stop being a pussy?-  
Before he can get into his issues with other him using that term in that context his phone vibrates. 

Please, please don’t be mad :( I swear I’ll make it up to you!! 

-I can think of a few ways-  
“Don’t be vile.”  
Ed scolds his mirror, before he inevitably gets flooded with all his mirror’s unwelcome suggestions.   
He should not be thinking of her in that way. Especially if they were to be friends. 

It’s fine. Is everything alright?

Just not feeling well today. I’ll see you tomorrow kay

Ok. Hope you feel better.

Thanks Eddie. You’re the best. :)

Eddie.   
He doesn’t mind that. 

“Hey, Alvarez!”  
(Y/N) glides through the doors.   
A grin tugs at his lips, he sets down his pen.   
Talking to (Y/N) really requires one’s full attention.   
“Propositioning me again?”   
“Again?” she arches a brow, “Reading into things are we? Darling,” she purrs, leaning down, “that was just me sussing out the competition.”  
He observes the splattering of hickeys all down her neck.   
“It doesn’t look like much of a competition.”  
“It’s not,” she smirks, looking at him through her lashes, “But I could share. So long as you boys don’t leave me feeling left out. But you wouldn’t do that would you Alvarez? You’re sweet.”  
He chuckles.   
“That for me?”   
He nods at the coffee in her hand.   
“Oh no, sorry baby. It’s a bribe for the boss man. I didn’t come in yesterday,” she looks coyly at him, “Did miss me?”   
“Desperately,” he answers easily, earning another grin, “Happy Birthday.”  
She beams at him.   
“Thank you, Officer.”  
He leans back in his chair.   
“Eighteen. Now you can really be a menace to society.”  
“As god intended.”  
She presses her hand to her heart before giving him a little wave and heading off to Forensics.   
He almost feels sorry for Nygma. 

“Here,” she holds out her caffeinated offering, “I got you coffee. So you have to still like me.”  
Her eyes flash.   
“I hadn’t stopped,” Ed grins, taking it, though he had missed her, “How was your birthday?”  
She purses her lips considering, tilting her head to the side.   
“It was disappointing,” she pouts before her lips curve, “…but it ended on a high note.”   
She looks away, biting her lip as her smile deepens, clearly remembering something interesting.   
-Oh, that lucky bastard-  
His mirror snarls.   
Ed’s eyes fall below her face to her neck.   
“Oh.”   
She blinks at his change in tone.  
“I-that’s- that’s good to hear.”  
It sounds weak even to him.   
His attempt to return her smile is just as pathetic. 

Ed was kinda quiet today. And there wasn’t all that much to do so she makes herself useful helping Kristen with files. It didn’t feel right to leave early after not coming in yesterday. And she liked the illusion of purpose.  
“So you and Victor, huh?”  
It’s not that she doesn’t like questions. It’s just that she doesn’t like stupid questions. And she doesn’t like how Jim asks them with his false nonchalance or his eternally confused puppy face. She doesn’t hate it, or him. She has a relatively high opinion of his person. He’d handled her case better than anyone else had. And she knows he’s clean. Not to mention genuinely well-meaning. Telling Bruce about the cover-up said a lot about his character. But now that she’s working with him she finds him just a tad annoying.   
Seriously, how did this guy get Lee?   
She squints at him.   
“I’m literally wearing his name Jim,” like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world, “If you gotta ask you might want to consider another profession.”  
He ignores the jab. She’s not surprised.  
“How did that happen?”   
He asks feigning casual interest with little success.   
“How’d you and Lee happen?”   
Jim blinks. Clearly flustered. Lead detective and he has the worst poker face ever.   
“It just happened naturally, we uh see a lot of each other. There was attraction…”   
Wow.  
“Yeah…that’s pretty much how Victor and I happened.”  
“...Right.”  
Jim looks disappointed with her answer.   
Had he really expected her to give him a tell-all after that answer?  
She sighs.   
He probably means well like with everything else.   
“I appreciate your concern. But it’s really not necessary.”   
She can take care of herself, and Victor she can handle. She shuffles the files in hand, moving to leave.   
Hang on.   
She turns on her heel.  
“Did Bruce put you up to this?”  
Jim frowns. The picture of confusion. 

“(Y/N)?”   
It takes Jim a minute to process Bruce being here.   
Wait.   
“You two know each other?”   
His frown deepens, looking back and forth between them.   
Now that he thought about it their uniforms were fairly similar.   
“Oh,” (Y/N) shifts her weight back on one foot, “you don’t talk about me?” she presses her lips together, “Hmm.”  
She’s walks off.   
Bruce flounders, claws at the air, and turns to glare at him.   
“What’d I say?”   
Bruce doesn’t answer and hurries after her. 

She doesn’t look at him as he comes up behind her, chin tilted up.   
“I’m sorry.”  
She stops fidgeting with the files, but her pout remains and she still does not look at him.   
“...I’m listening.”  
“I thought-” he takes a breath, her lashes flutter, “I found a lead that seemed promising and I didn’t want to ruin your day with it. It didn’t turn out to be anything.”  
She’s looking at him now, eyes glaring.   
“Bruce…,” oh, he’s in trouble, “are you stupid?! Your shit is my shit by association. You can’t just decide to leave me out of it all of a sudden!”  
He wasn’t! He just didn’t want to bother her. He wasn’t trying to-  
“But…it was your birthday.”   
“Yeah, and it sucked!” he looks away, she stops, smooths her tone, “Not just cuz you were a no show. Mostly it was Mario being an ass,” she plops down on a bench, “You know people actually like him? Dad loves him.”  
She glares off to the side.   
“What’d he do this time?”   
Bruce edges down to sit next to her.   
“He gave me expensive earrings,” her pout deepens, “…you had to be there.”   
Bruce nods. He figured the earrings themselves weren’t the issue. (Y/N) loves a good sparkle.   
Her brother not so much.   
“…Selina showed.”  
“Yeah?”   
So she really was keeping an eye out.  
“Yeah, so I don’t care how kind your intentions were,” (Y/N) crosses her arms, “You better have something good for me.”  
“Okay,” he nods, he’d expected as much, “I made a list.”  
He pulls out his notepad.   
“You made a list?”   
(Y/N)’s eyes widen, lips quirking.   
He bites back a grin.   
That was a good sign. 

“EWWW!”  
“Bruce keep it down!” she shushes him, “People are gonna think I’m corrupting the youth.”  
“You are corrupting the youth. That’s disgusting!”  
“You haven’t seen disgusting,” she counters.   
“I never want to see what you consider disgusting,” she sticks out her tongue, “Oh, very mature! Nice to see age hasn’t changed you,” his dig holds little weight when he can’t stop smiling, “…I’m really glad we’re talking again,” he admits, “Thought I was going to die today when we didn’t have lunch together.”  
He really does not have many or any friends besides her and Selina.   
“Awww Bruce!” she nudges him with her shoulder sounding sugar sweet, “You do know how to sweet talk,” her smile turns mean, “Just not to Selina.”  
Ouch. He breathes sharply through his nose.   
“I knew it was too good to be true when you started the sentence like that. I knew it,” he taps his pen against the pad, “Fell for it anyway.”  
She shakes with giggles and moves to press a kiss to his temple.   
“Don’t, don’t,” he leans away, holding up his pen like a ward, “I know where your mouth has been.”  
Her jaw drops.   
“Oh now who’s being disgusting!”   
Blood rushes to his ears.   
“That is not fair! You’re a terrible influence!”  
“Well,” she leans back, “no one’s making you hang out with me. You certainly had no problem not coming-”  
“Okay, okay,” they were backtracking, “We’re in agreement on rainbow kettle corn?”  
“...Yes.”  
A shadow looms over them. 

He was taller up close.  
Then again, Bruce was sitting down.   
“Victor! What are you doing here?”  
“Missed you.”  
Victor answers with ease.   
(Y/N)’s mouth does that thing that’s not quite a smile, but her eyes give away her satisfaction.   
“You’re making people uncomfortable.”  
She informs him.  
Bruce was pretty uncomfortable and the cops certainly looked…tense.   
“You don’t mind that.”  
Victor shrugs, the picture of calm, hands in his suit pocket as he leans against a wall.  
“Well,” (Y/N) folds her hands in her lap, “we’re in the middle of a serious negotiation, could you stand by?”  
“No.”  
Victor gives him a look that makes his skin itch.   
“Don’t look at him like that.”   
Her almost smile vanishes. Victor switches his focus back to her, head tilting.   
“You’re not mad at him anymore?”  
They talked about him?  
“No. Go away.”  
“You’re picking the kid over me?”  
Okay, he is almost thirteen. Bruce huffs.   
(Y/N) rolls her eyes.   
“Just go hit on Alvarez or something.”  
She waves a hand.   
What?  
Victor blinks slow, like a cat.  
“Okay,” Victor moves to leave, suddenly compliant, (Y/N)’s jaw drops, “You said it,” he shrugs, walking off. 

What? 

“You’re done with this right?”  
(Y/N) yanks the pen out of his hand before he can answer and throws it at Victor’s head. She has shockingly good aim. But Victor sidesteps it with the ease of a trained assassin and flashes her a wide grin.  
“Babe. What’s the matter? I’m just doing what you told me,” (Y/N) glares at him, walking off, “Where you going?”  
“I’m getting more pens so I can stab you with them.”  
She declares.  
“Mmmm,” Victor raises his nonexistent eyebrows as he strolls over to meet her, “Let me help you with that.”  
They stop short of the supply closet, making eyes at each other.   
So…that’s what sexual tension feels like. 

Oh my god. 

“Are you serious?” Bruce hisses.  
A supply closet!   
“What?” she blinks at him.   
He waves his hands at the door.   
“It’s a room.”   
It’s a supply closet!   
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long suffering sigh.   
“Can I leave? Am I forgiven?”  
“Oh sweetie, of course you’re forgiven!”   
She smiles at him like she wasn’t mad to begin with. He smiles back.   
It drops as a familiar chill creeps up his spine.  
(Y/N) rolls her eyes.   
“Victor!” she snaps, “Don’t look at him like that!”  
Victor stops, raising his hands in surrender. Bruce doesn’t find it very sincere. But she seems to forgive him after a moment of consideration.   
She certainly doesn’t waste much time pushing Victor into the closet. 

Bruce wishes he could share Gordon’s look of confusion.   
Ignorance is such bliss.


	24. Chapter 24

“Who are you?”  
Oswald blinks up at the strange tall man who gave unsolicited riddles and simply couldn’t be deterred by universal social cues.  
“Edward. Nygma,” he answers, still smiling, looking almost eager, “I know who you are.”

Cobblepot’s demeanor shifts.  
“Then you know you’re standing too close.”  
Ed takes a step back, smile briefly faltering.  
“Did you know male emperor penguins keep their egg’s warm by balancing them on their feet? Isn’t that neat?”  
Cobblepot turns back to him exasperated by his persistence.  
“Nice to meet you, sir. Keep moving.”  
He maintains however, an almost pleasantly soft voice despite the glare in his eyes.  
He’s seen (Y/N) manage that, too. But with more charm.  
“Will do.”  
He flashes another smile before walking off.  
He was only curious.  
“Miss Falcone?”  
His steps stutter.  
They know each other?  
“Mr. Cobblepot?”

At least he seemed just as confused seeing her as she is seeing him.  
She’d been so thrown she’d actually been polite.  
Honestly, his name is so ridiculous. Everyone’s really. At least Ed’s is funny.  
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”  
“Aren’t you supposed to be dead in a ditch?”  
She fires back on instinct.  
Victor had mentioned something along those lines some weeks ago. But here he was looking very much alive. And even better dressed.  
“River.”  
He works his sharp jaw, clearly disgruntled.  
She probably would be, too. But she didn’t like him enough to sympathize.  
“Classic,” the river was rather a go-to wasn’t it, “How can I help you?”  
She plasters on a smile.  
He doesn’t return it with one of his equally false grins. Instead stares at her with a burning intensity that would make her twitch if she wasn’t used to dissection.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“I’m an intern.”  
She shrugs.  
It seemed fairly obvious, she was holding one fat stack of files.  
“At the GCPD?”  
“Yeah.”  
She squints around the precinct as though to make sure.  
He’s not amused.  
Whatever.  
She fixes a glare on him. She did have some things to do.  
“I’m looking for Jim Gordon.”  
Oh?  
“Well, he’s out,” she waves her pen at Gordon’s empty desk, “detecting, I imagine. You could leave a message,” she offers, he makes no move to speak, just continues to glare at her like she’s a very annoying puzzle, “...Or not.”  
It’s not as if she’s thrilled to deal with him. Or even cares much.  
But his beady eyes don’t leave hers, and she’s not going to look away first.  
Her eyes narrow.  
His jaw shifts, he pulls something out of the little clutch in his hand.  
A black card with blue cursive.  
“Oswald’s,” her brows arch, “Gosh, how long did it take you to come up with that?”  
His lips thin further.  
No appreciation.  
She rolls her eyes, sighs.  
“How do you know Jim Gordon anyway?”  
There was no way this was an acquaintance Gordon was happy about. He still looked at her funny, and she’s a lot better liked than Penguin surely.  
“He saved my life.”  
Oh, right. That did sound familiar.  
She’d made a habit of blocking out the drama that surrounded Gordon, it was so excessive.  
Kind of impressive though how he managed to push so many buttons. Even her father’s at one point.  
Penguin sounded rather fond though.  
But to show up in person to invite him.  
He must be very grateful.  
“How romantic,” she smirks, his jaw ticks, “I’ll be sure let him know you stopped by.”  
He gives a curt nod, and turns to leave.  
“I wouldn’t hold out too much hope though. You’re not his type.”  
So maybe she was a little bitter about how things turned out with Liza.  
Penguin stops mid-limp.  
His glare is almost alarming.  
A sore spot then.  
“I’m surprised Victor hadn’t mentioned I was alive,” he looks pointedly at her choker, “I wonder what else he doesn’t tell you.”  
Her lip curls.  
“You know something else you’re not supposed to?”  
“Something else?” he tilts his head, “You’re not still sore about that woman, are you?” she glowers at him, “What happened to her she brought onto herself.”  
His mouth stretches into a thin smile.  
She grinds her teeth.  
She couldn’t deny that.  
“Yes, actions do tend to have consequences,” she smooths the curl in her lip into a sharp grin, “Congratulations on the club. You’ve come a long, long way from umbrella boy.”  
Well, Victor had told her that.  
She watches the grin slide off his face with little satisfaction.  
It is impressive how much loathing he manages to fit into those beady little eyes.  
She holds his glare until he’s gone. 

He’d only said that to fuck with her.  
But the doubt was already there, twisting under the surface.   
Her pen snaps between her fingers.  
Blue black ink stain the lines of her palm.


	25. Chapter 25

Oswald sighs walking back from his office to the bar. Shattering that bottle was satisfying for about a minute. If he was going to own a club he might as well take advantage of the full wall of alcohol.   
He shakes his head, Jim was making a fool out of him.   
His pauses, rounding the corner.   
There was someone behind the bar.   
His hand close around a blade. Surely, no one would come start something so soon. Fish was gone. Falcone assured him she was taken care of, her man Butch, too. He hesitates, limping closer.   
(Y/N) Falcone stands, popping open a bottle.   
He nearly drops the knife.   
“Oh, were you hoping to drink alone?” she glowers at him as she drinks his wine, “Too bad.”  
She moves around the counter and settles on a bar stool.   
She’s not wearing her uniform anymore, dressed instead in a dramatic sleeveless black gown paired long black satin gloves. She’s dressed like a Hollywood star, but the disarray of her hair and smudged edge of her eye liner hint at her less than stable mood.   
Good, he’s in a shit mood thanks to her, too. The spoiled brat.  
His lip curls.   
He didn’t care for pretty girls, and they certainly cared little for him.   
“Oh, what are you gonna do Oswald?” she side eyes him, looking vicious, “Gonna run your mouth off to my daddy? Please go ahead, I would love to see how he reacts to the fact that you showed up at my internship for Jim Gordon and then preceded to insinuate he’s hiding something from me-”  
“I never-”   
He frowns, quick to deny.   
She’s quick to interrupt.  
“Victor is my dad’s number one. So if he’s not telling me something, it’s because my dad’s not telling me something. Unless you meant to say my father can’t manage his mens’ loyalty?” that was worse, “I don’t think he would appreciate that either,” she plays with her glass, twisting the stem between her fingers before looking sharply back at him, “Does he know you spoke to me about Liza first?”   
Shit.  
That was a miscalculation.  
“There is also the fact that his baby girl is now drunk in your new club I’m guessing he gave you.”   
She lets out a breathy laugh.  
She had him and she knew it.   
Her eyes narrow as she looks around the place.   
“This used to be Fish Mooney’s place right? Kinda dead for such prime real estate.”  
That was understatement. He clenches his teeth, completely empty was not good, even for an opening.   
“But sure,” she sighs, waving her hand, “be a snitch. You’re good at that,” god she was bitter, that Liza woman’s death really did bother her, “Fuck,” she sighs, the bottle is half empty now, at least he could probably overpower her in this state if she decided to attack him, “I’d love to see Victor blow your brains out. That would be so hot.”   
Her obvious instability was concerning. But he almost prefers it to her usual control. Off balance she might be easier to handle. Though it was hard to say, he didn’t know her that well, and had never anticipated having to actually deal with her.   
“What is that?”   
He nods to the suspicious thing on the counter.   
“Cake. I got hungry on the way and it’s rude to show up empty-handed.”  
She is not seriously teaching him manners.   
“You just threatened me five times-”  
He feels the need to remind her, despite their maintained effort to keep their threats veiled.   
“And I wasn’t going to bring alcohol to a club,” she scoffs, continuing on and interrupting him again, “So obviously cake.”  
He bites down his anger.   
“...Why are you here?”  
It wasn’t just to bother him, surely she wasn’t so petty. And she was clearly clever not to mention capable enough of messing with him without showing up herself.   
And alone.   
He looks around. Her Victor was no where in sight.   
Why would she come alone?  
She breathes sharply in, shoulders tensing and looks away.  
“...He’s hiding something from me.”  
Ah. This he could work with.   
“And you want me to tell you what it is?”  
He slides onto the stool beside hers.   
“Hell no!” she turns sharply back to glare at him, “Even if I trusted you which I don’t. I have no interest in being a position of owing you anything.”  
“Then why-”  
“I can’t-I can’t go to my actual friends about this.”   
Must be nice to have actual friends.   
He glowers at her.   
She hiccups and carries on, the alcohol definitely had an effect. Though he imagines she’d been drinking a while before he found her.   
“Cat’s impossible to find. I have no idea where she lives. And I have no way to contact her either she just pops up through a window every once in a while. And she’s really more Bruce’s than mine. And Bruce is just going to tell me to dump him. He can barely keep his opinions to himself right now. I love him but I can’t talk to him about this, not really. Ed I work with so that would be awkward, and Alvarez is just out of the question as much as I like him,” she chuckles, “so somehow,” she inhales with great effort, “Somehow you, you have become my best option,” she looks miserable about it despite her smile, “Not because I like you by any means,” he didn’t need reminding, “Though I suppose I don’t completely hate you. But fucking with you does bring some satisfaction after all that shit you’ve pulled.”   
Shit he’s pulled?   
“And before you kick me out,” she raises her hand, “I can see you’re gettin’ a lil’ splotchy.”   
He is not.   
Actually he is rather warm. He loosens his tie. But only because she is beyond aggravating.   
“You don’t have a lot of options. Not good ones anyway. If something happens to me because you kicked me out you’re gonna be all kinds of fucked,” she was right about that, Falcone would kill him and all his effort will have been for nothing, “And why bother? There’s no one else here. Certainly no Jim Gordon,” ouch, “You could do way worse than me. I have cake.”  
That was somewhat convincing.   
And he was getting sick of drinking alone. 

“Is there anything you like about me?”   
Four glasses of wine made him feel a lot more warmly towards her.   
“Like is a strong word.”  
She reminds him.   
Warm is a strong word too now that he thinks about it.   
But her edges lack the malice he’s used to from everyone. And she is lovely to look at, almost charming once you get over how annoying she is. He’s certainly never met anyone like her.  
She sighs, long and contemplative.   
The shadows of her lashes kiss her cheek as she looks him up and down.   
“You have a decent aesthetic,” she shrugs, resting her cheek on her palm, “ Victor’s rather goth, too. But sleeker. Yours is more Victorian, but also disco…” she waves her finger around his hair, before shrugging again, “I mean it works.”  
“You dress nicely also.”   
It was quite the outfit.   
“Yeah, I know,” she smiles, admiring her gloves, “Thanks though, sometimes people don’t notice.”  
“Oh, they notice.”  
She’s not even his type and he’s noticed.   
Though it’s hard to remember that when she smiles at him. 

“Penguin,” they turn to see Victor, glaring from the entrance, “You would rather spend your night with Penguin than me?”   
She’s surprised it took him so long to track her down.   
He does not look happy with her.   
Well, she’s not happy with him either.   
“It’s Oswald,” she sets down her glass, “And at least I know to expect him to lie to me.”  
Victor’s glare hardens further, a bit giveaway really.   
“So you have been keeping things from me.”   
It had been more of a gut feeling until now. Something she could dismiss as Penguin fucking with her. Now not so much.   
“Why would you do that?”  
She slides off the stool and blinks up at him.  
She thought they were past this now that they were together together. It wasn’t like she didn’t know the things his job entailed. And he was hardly ever shy about that before either.   
Why keep things from her now?  
She frowns up at him.   
He remains stoic, dark eyes, hard edges. Annoying how much she loves those pieces of him even when he’s being difficult.   
“You’ve kept things from me.”   
Oh, he was not seriously bring that up again. That was in the past. Whatever this was, was clearly new.  
“I think I’ll walk home.”  
She declares through clenched teeth, checking his shoulder as she passes him.   
He grabs her arm. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough she couldn’t just shake him off.   
“Get in the car or I’ll put you in the trunk.”  
His eyes are black holes.   
Had he been worried?  
She almost feels guilty. But it’s hard to manage guilt with everything else.   
“You wouldn’t.”   
He wouldn’t.  
And he doesn’t, but he does near drag her out the club before shoving her in the car.   
“Victor!”   
She bites out his name.   
“You’re acting like a brat.”  
“You’re acting like an ass!”

They don’t talk the drive back.   
But he expresses his irritation just fine through the tick in his jaw and his bone white grip on the wheel.   
She matches his glare out the windshield. 

They’re still quiet walking through the foyer past the guards.   
At least her father is no where to be seen. Probably best considering she was still flushed as all hell and the taste wine on her lips no doubt meant she reeked of it. She doesn’t think she could handle a lecture tonight. Not well anyway.  
She drags her hands over her face as she makes her way to the stairs.   
“Don’t go to bed angry with me.”  
She hadn’t expected him to break the silence first.   
It throws her off before she’s back to angry.   
“I just don’t get it!” she whips around, “Murder, torture, Alvarez,” she takes a step closer with each word, “Those you have no problem discussing with me? What could you possibly feel the need to hide that fucking Penguin seems to know about?”   
Fucking Penguin!   
She claws at the air, at the stair railing.   
Fucking…Penguin.  
Shit.   
She leans back.  
She’d already figured it out earlier, hadn’t she?  
“…It’s to do with dad, isn’t it?”   
His silence is answer enough.  
She glares at him.   
His dark eyes stare back, steady. He makes no move to say anything.   
“…Fine, don’t tell me.”  
She turns away from him.   
It wasn’t like his loyalty to her father was news.   
He would tell her if she needed to know.  
Wouldn’t he?   
It’s a tie.


	26. Chapter 26

Ed didn’t noticed anything off at first. (Y/N) smiled just as much as she usually did. But every moment she had to herself, her brows would furrow into a frown. It was worrying.   
It was so unlike her to be unhappy.   
“Is something wrong?”  
She blinks at him, eyes wide before flashing another smile.   
It’s not quite so convincing, pretty as she is.   
“It’s nothing.”  
She assures him.   
-Friends talk about these things. You are friends-  
Ed chews on his lip, he doesn’t want to push. But clearly something is the matter. And he wants to know.   
“Even I know when people say ’it’s nothing’, it means something.”   
Her lip quirks.   
She looks down.  
“...it’s my boyfriend.”  
“The assassin?” Ed straightens, a million awful scenarios fly through his head, “Is he…”  
He wasn’t hurting her?   
Ed looks her over.  
Her eyes widen.   
“What! No, no,” she shakes her head, “He wouldn’t hurt me. He’s…hiding something from me. Which shouldn’t bother me. He’s omitted things before. Of course. But this is bothering me,” she sighs, then laughs, raking her hand through her hair, “And it’s bothering me that it’s bothering me.”  
“Sorry,” he is, at least half of him is, “Do you-would you like the day off?”  
He’d be sorry to see her go. But he hardly has anything else to offer her.   
“God no! I need the distraction. What would I do otherwise anyway?”   
He’s not quite sure of her interests outside of the office. Well, there’s her boyfriend. But suggesting him would hardly be helpful. And he didn’t want to.   
“What about your friend, the Wayne kid?”   
He’d come around the other day.   
She’d taken quite a long break.   
Ed had been embarrassingly jealous. Of a child. Then even more so when her Victor showed up.   
It was exhausting feeling so much but even so liking her came easier than liking Ms. Kringle ever did.   
“Oh no, I love Bruce,” and he’s jealous again, “But he is very perceptive, and it’s adorable...until it’s inconvenient.”   
“So I’m preferable to Bruce?”  
-Good question-  
His mirror hums his approval.   
“In this case, I think so,” she says diplomatically, before grumbling off to the side, “I already know where he stands.”   
“Well I’m flattered,” he’s never been preferable to anybody, “but I don’t really have advice to give on these things.”  
He really wished he did. But that sort of knowledge really only came with experience.   
“That’s okay. You’re doing fine, Eddie.”   
-She’s sweet-  
She means it.   
He wants to do better than fine though. 

The idea occurs to him on his way to the annex.   
He and Ms. Kringle were on friendly terms now.   
Sure it was nothing near what he maintained with (Y/N) but certainly they were close enough he could perhaps ask her advice on such matters. It would be great help to gain a woman’s perspective on what he should do. And it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Any answer would be better than what his mirror was leaning towards.   
It was bad enough wanting her. Actually sabotaging her relationship however fragile it may be would be unforgivable.   
And he didn’t want to get her like that.   
He opens the door and is immediately regretful.   
Though they thankfully pull away upon his arrival Officer Dougherty had Ms. Kringle pressed against her desk in a rather heated embrace.   
Ed turns sharply in place, fixing his heel to the door frame and stares firmly at the floor.  
Just because he was past his infatuation didn’t mean he wanted to see that.   
But he couldn’t exactly leave them. He did have actual business.   
“Forgive me?” Dougherty whispers, “I’ll see you tonight?”  
-Odd-  
He doesn’t mean to listen. But whispers in close range are only so quiet.   
Dougherty greets him as he walks out, and doesn’t bother waiting for a response. Ed has to admit he manages a very impressive illusion of a likeable man despite not being one.   
“Mr. Nygma,” Ms. Kringle turns to him, pulling at her skirt, “did you need something?”  
“Yes, Mr. Gordon wanted me to go through the forensic evidence of these old murders.”  
He hands her the list, rocking back on his feet.   
Now would be the time to ask.   
He takes a breath.  
Wait-   
“Are those bruises?”   
On her arm, those were definitely-  
He thinks back.   
“Did Officer Dougherty do that?”  
“Uh,” Ms. Kringle flounders, tugging at her sleeve, “he was upset and he didn’t mean to,” she shakes her head, “I-I said some things I shouldn’t have.”  
“Ms. Kringle this is not right! He can’t just-”  
“Mr. Nygma, it is none of your concern.”  
She states in a tone that allows no argument. 

Maybe it wasn’t really his concern. But it wasn’t right and he couldn’t just do nothing. At the very least he ought to confront the bastard. 

Ed tracks him down by the steps. Dougherty had been surrounded by his pals. But always the pleasant guy agreed to have a word with him alone.   
“I saw the bruises.”  
“And?”  
Dougherty shrugs, his grin more plastic than usual but other than that he looked not the slightest bit affected.   
Ed expected more of a reaction.   
“And you cannot do that! Next time you do that-”  
“Whoa, calm down. You’ll give yourself a girly fit.”   
-A what now-  
Dougherty sighs, looking down at him.   
Ed rather regrets the choice of confronting him below the steps. He feels at a disadvantage despite having the higher moral ground.   
But why would that make a difference?   
People always look down on him.   
“Have you ever been with a woman? Didn’t think so. They need a firm hand,” Dougherty informs him, “That goes double for Kringle. Girl’s got a tongue.”   
What kind of justification was that?  
“I won’t let you hurt her.”  
Dougherty chuckles to himself.   
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do?”   
He takes a step closer.  
Ed flounders.   
“Tch,” Dougherty winks, “That’s what I thought. Later, Riddle man.”  
Ed grinds his teeth.  
What was he going to do?

He couldn’t report anything for her. Ms. Kringle would never come forward. Even if she did god knows how many character witnesses Dougherty could pull out of his ass.   
If the report would even get written. He was friends with half the guys in the precinct. He’s a likeable guy. Even if people believed her it may not go in her favor.   
The things people can get away with.   
If he wasn’t going to stop. Ed would stop him. 

“Stop right there!”   
“Riddle man,” Dougherty turns in his step, meeting him in the street, “What the hell are you doing creeping around here?”   
“You need to leave Ms. Kringle alone. I’m not going to let you hurt her ever again.”   
“Oh, I get it now,” Dougherty chuckles, “You’ve got a thing for my girl. That is too funny.”   
He shakes his head still smiling. He’s always goddamn smiling.   
“Don’t take this personal.”   
That’s all the warning he gets before Dougherty sinks his fist into his gut.   
Ed crumples to the ground, gasping.   
-You really should have seen that coming-  
“Come on. Up again.”   
Dougherty sighs, impatient, but not ready to be done with him.   
Ed coughs. One hand bracing against the pavement. The other sinking into his coat pocket.   
Dougherty grabs him by the collar.   
Ed’s hand close around his knife.   
Ed stands as he pulls and meets him, driving the blade under his ribs.   
“Oh dear.”  
Ed whispers, pulling out the blade.   
It slides easily out of him, almost as smoothly as it had torn in. They both look down at his now bloodied hand and knife. Both in shock.   
He’s not sure who’s more surprised.  
He’d made sure to bring the knife but he hadn’t really planned to use it.   
Had he?   
Dougherty sways back, then falls forward. His grip still impressively strong on Ed’s shoulders as he bleeds out.   
-Not fast enough-   
“Oh dear.”  
Ed drives the blade back in.   
Again, and again.   
Over and over until Dougherty falls to his knees.   
Finally beneath him, where he ought to be.   
“Oh dear.”

It was a pain getting what was left of Dougherty into work. Compact as he could be now that he’d sawed him to pieces the bastard was still rather heavy.   
He’d hoped to deal with him sooner, before (Y/N) came in. But there were other cases. And suddenly working slower would be suspicious.   
Though he had been lucky so far.   
There were some perks it turns out of having no work friends. No one asks any questions when you haul in two suspiciously heavy cases.   
“Hey,” the door opens, “There you are.”   
He nearly drops the acid.  
-Speak of the devil-  
(Y/N) is hardly-  
But now was not a convenient time for her to see him.   
-Be cool-  
“Hey.”  
He flashes her a smile.   
She closes the door, leaning against it and looks coyly up at him.   
(Y/N) had a number of looks, but she never looked down at him.   
Her eyes narrow.   
“Are you allowed to be in here?”  
Ms. Thomson was much more lenient about using her office. But he did not get her express permission this time.   
“..Not technically.”  
“Mmm,” she bites her lip, gaze turning to the gory mess in the sink most everyone else would shy away from, “whatcha you doing?”  
She walks closer.   
“...dissolving a body.”  
There was no point lying to her about that. He had taught her rather well and she wasn’t stupid.   
“But isn’t the body...evidence?”  
(Y/N) stops, frowning.  
“Well,” yes, actually exactly, “but...this is for an experiment.”  
-Not a total lie- His mirror smirks from the side -You’re trying to see if a forensic scientist get away with murder-  
Shut up.   
“Oh!”   
Her eyes light up.  
-So adorable-  
“Can I watch?”  
Relief floods through him.   
“Of course.”   
He blushes, pleased.   
She has a wonderful tendency of pleasantly surprising him.   
-With the exception of Victor-  
Well, no one’s perfect.  
“Goggles and mask.”  
He reminds her.  
They both gear up.  
“And uh, could you keep this between us?”  
It would be best to keep this quiet. Not everyone would be as understanding.  
-No one would be as understanding-  
“Course.”  
She smiles at him.   
Ed gulps.   
What did it say about him that killing Dougherty felt easier than being near her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is soo late! I was really busy last week. And it's all Ed pov. You probably wanna know what Victor's hiding huh? Next chapter I promise. And I won't make you wait another week I'll post that this weekend.


	27. Chapter 27

She wasn’t trying to be sneaky.  
She was just walking by.  
She honestly hadn’t meant to hear anything.   
It’s not her fault her father’s soundproof office didn’t quite do the job when he the door left open.   
She’d fully meant to keep walking by until she heard her name, and then some other things that painted an all too familiar picture.   
One she did not like. 

His office is not a place she can just waltz into, and certainly not without knocking but she was so past caring.   
“Miami?” she bursts in, “Are you joking?”   
He could not be serious.  
She was not fucking moving again.   
Not now!   
She’d finally settled, for gods sake!   
Her father sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Lines etched deep in his face as hangs up the phone.   
He looks tired already.   
He should be wary, pulling this shit on her, again.   
If only he could think ahead.   
“I’m not a kid anymore you can’t just send me away!”  
This wasn’t supposed to happen now. She’s a fucking adult!   
It shouldn’t even have happened then. He’d said so himself! How much he regretted it and all that shit.   
He was not seriously be doing this to her again.   
Her lip quivers.   
She glares at him.   
“I’m not sending you away,” he says low and even, in a tone that should placate her, “I’m taking you with me.”  
That wasn’t better.   
“So my life depends entirely on your whims?”   
She seethes.   
“Don’t be difficult (Y/N),” he sighs again, but maintains his low even tone, “This is for the best.”  
His composer only angers her further.   
At a certain point this was supposed to be her life.   
“It’s Miami! Would you make Mario go with you to fucking Miami?”  
“Mario is surgeon, and he has a life here.”  
What the fuck did he mean by that?  
“And I don’t have a life here?” she digs her fingers into her chest, “I have plans. I have friends. I’m going to Gotham University in the fall!” he’d been perfectly happy about that, she’d gotten in fucking early and everything, “And I am an adult now too, you know?”  
He’d thrown her that ridiculous fucking party to celebrate.   
Or had he conveniently forgotten?   
He couldn’t just decide these things without her. At least he fucking shouldn’t!  
“There are plenty of excellent universities elsewhere.”  
Like she doesn’t know that.   
But she doesn’t want to go elsewhere.  
She didn’t spend her whole life orbiting Gotham like some sad fucking moon. Getting a taste for the place every goddamn summer. Having it dangle in her face like some delicious forbidden fruit and finally, finally coming here after her mother gets murdered only to have to leave now. When she finally has things she wants! When things are finally settled and her life was finally starting to feel fucking normal after all that shit with Jerome and Liza. Things were good right now. She liked her life.   
She couldn’t leave now!   
“Just because you’re ready to leave this city doesn’t mean I am!”  
She’s never raised her voice with her father this much.   
But she’s never been so angry with him.   
She takes a deep breath.   
It doesn’t quite do the job but it evens her out enough to at least manage to sound reasonable.   
“Just because I haven’t gotten everything figured out doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get the chance to try where I’d like.”  
She knew he understood the concept.   
Their family had massive generational wealth but he hadn’t just fallen into the position of the most powerful man in Gotham.   
And he’d always been fairly lenient about their pursuits.   
Mario got to be a surgeon and he let her have the internship.   
But Mario got to stay. It was not fair she had to fight for that and he didn’t.   
“I am not keeping you from that.”  
He sighs, still maintaining his calm, tired, fatherly tone.   
But they’re both wearing thin.   
“No?” she grinds her teeth, “Because it seems to me like that’s exactly what you’re doing!”  
And she’s just supposed to go along with it.   
Like always.  
Her nails dig into her palm.   
He sits up in his chair.   
“Just what do you think is going to happen to you without me?”   
His tone shifts, his eyes flash.   
She steps back.   
“We’re leaving at the end of the week.”   
He says in a voice that allows no argument. He’s not interested in placating her anymore.   
“Start packing your things.”  
She blinks, shrinking in on herself.   
The end of the week?  
That was so soon.  
He had to have been planning this for a while now.   
How long had he been planning this?   
“...Is this why you let me have the internship?”   
Her voice now barely above a whisper.   
It wasn’t much of a fight anymore.   
But did she ever have a chance of winning?   
“...because you were already planning on leaving. So it didn’t matter?”   
Clearly it hadn’t meant what she thought it did.   
She crosses her arms, sucking on her bottom lip as his image blurs.  
It might have been kinder if he hadn’t bothered.   
Her father sighs deeply.  
“Victor-”  
“Victor?”  
She repeats.   
His name feels foreign on her tongue.   
She stares as he steps into the office. His face betrays nothing, the usual flat marble.   
So this is what he hadn’t told her.   
She’s distantly aware her father is still talking.   
None of it really registers.   
She plays absentmindedly with her choker. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”   
She sits on the steps, eyes unfocused as she stares at the crown molding.   
It probably would have been better to talk in her room, but she only managed to make it so far before needing to sit down.   
“Miami? You’re seriously okay with that? You hate the sun.”  
Her voice is flat in her shock, and lacking the usual string of much deserved profanities.   
That’s how fucking out of it she is.   
There is no way he would be happy with leaving Gotham. He loves the miserable place.  
“Well, I wouldn’t be staying there.”  
She blinks.  
Once, twice.   
“What you do mean you wouldn’t be staying there?”   
She turns slowly to look at him.   
“He wants me here taking care of things.”   
So retirement really just meant a change of scenery for her father.   
A step back, he wasn’t really, truly leaving the industry.   
“And I have my people to take care of.”   
He could not be serious.   
Her lips near seal together she presses them so completely into a line.   
“So…where do I fit in?”   
With him.   
It didn’t sound good for them.   
Had he thought of that at all? He hadn’t acted very different if he did.   
Victor tilts his head, not understanding.   
“Were you planning on breaking up with me at the end of the week?”  
“No.”  
He has the audacity to look surprised she’d suggest that.   
She waits for him to elaborate, give her some fucking explanation.   
There had to be something more than just following orders. He’d always skated around the rules with her. Why not with this?   
But his mouth doesn’t move and she finds she doesn’t care what he has to say.   
Whatever his reason just wouldn’t be good enough.   
He moves as she does.   
“Don’t follow me.”  
She glares at him, slamming her door behind her. 

There was no way in hell she was going to fucking Miami.  
Fuck the both of them.  
She could take care of herself if she had to.   
She has had to.   
“Without him,” she mutters.   
Her father wasn’t fucking god.   
He didn’t have that kind of reach. She’d suffered plenty with him around. Fucking thanks to him at times, too.   
“As long as you live under my roof.”  
She paces, glaring up at the ceiling.   
Under his roof.  
Like that was some damning thing she couldn’t fix. 

“Bruce?”


	28. Chapter 28

“You are so nice to be letting me stay here,” she sighs, curling into a ball on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re letting me stay here,” she hugs the pillow tighter, and sinks her face into the soft plush.  
She doesn’t know what she would have done if she didn’t have Bruce.  
Which is kind of pathetic.  
He’s the baby. She should be the one taking care of him.  
“It’s not as if Master Bruce can’t afford to take in a stray or two.”  
Alfred smiles at her before looking pointedly to Selina perched on the back of the couch.  
Selina glares back at him.  
“You know you’re always welcome,” Bruce smiles at her, oblivious to, or more likely ignoring the tension, “Besides it’ll be fun!”  
“Yeah, fun.”  
She smiles back.  
She could use some fun.  
But sleeping over didn’t feel as much of a treat as it did last time considering her current circumstances.  
Selina’s green eyes shift to her. It feels like she’s waiting for her to fall apart and bracing herself for the waterworks.  
It doesn’t seem fair. She was managing really, very well.  
She certainly managed to look perfectly alright. All evidence of her tears had been carefully erased.  
She’d had very efficiently cried as she packed her things. Hopefully she'd gotten everything. She couldn’t exactly go back.  
They were all being careful with her, all avoiding the subject of Victor.  
It was very sweet.  
And admirable, considering how many times he’d called. How many times she’d stared blankly at his name flashing on her phone screen.  
At least she managed to disassociate enough not to fully feel the awkward silence. 

The room was lovely.  
Bruce had Alfred set fresh flowers on the table.  
He is such a sweetie. Flittering around the room, fluffing up the already fluffed pillows. Fixing this and that as if Alfred didn't keep everything perfect already.  
She doesn’t usually appreciate it when people hover.  
But it’s impossible not to appreciate this.  
Still, as nice as it was it still felt crowded.  
She had so much to think about.  
She’d barely thought at all before rushing to this…possibly stupid decision.  
But at least it was her decision.  
She is so tired of her well being as a reason to control her. She could live with a lot. She’d disliked plenty of his decisions and gone through with them regardless. Because those had been well reasoned and the circumstances were different. She was a kid then. This was not that. This was total crap. It wasn't for her at all he just decided-she never would have felt like she had to do this if he hadn’t decided they were to move to Miami and without even considering running it by her and Victor knew and he didn’t-  
Her phone buzzes again.  
Caller ID Unknown.  
She had blocked him after the third call in a row.  
She doesn’t know why she thought that would stop him.  
She turns off her phone.  
Now it’s just quiet.  
But the awkward is still there.  
“I’m going to go to the bathroom.”  
She declares.  
She doesn’t want to sit here anymore.  
And if she does have a breakdown she’d prefer it in isolation. 

She glares at her reflection.  
Her eyes were red again.  
“You gotta be fucking kidding me!”  
She groans, rubbing them  
If they just disappeared back into her skull it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.  
Oh now it’s worse.  
Of course.  
She breathes sharply in, her grip on the counter tightening until her arms shake.  
God she loathes crying.  
It’s so humiliating. The complete lack of control.  
And as if that wasn’t bad enough there had to be evidence.  
God, she looks up to glare at the ceiling. Was it so much to ask to have some fucking control over her fucking face at least?  
She already had sympathy. She didn’t want pity, too.  
The heart pendant shakes as she breathes. Victor’s name glinting at her.  
There are reminders of him all over her. Her very skin. But that tiny little thing felt so significant.  
She’s tempted so tempted to discard. Rip it off and be done with him. She is so so angry with him. It would be justified wouldn't it. It certainly didn't feel like they were together anymore.  
But she doesn’t actually want to give him up.  
Not the version of him she thought he was anyway. The one devoted to her. That won't stop calling.  
But she can't just forgive this. And she can’t stand to be thinking about him right now. It’s driving her crazy. Seeing his name every time she looks in the mirror isn't helping. Just knowing it there, being reminded of his name on her neck by everyone’s gaze because of course it's the first thing they notice he's so goddamn prolific. She can't deal with it right now. Just feeling it there was making her crazy.  
She should just take it off.  
But taking it off just felt so…final.  
And she didn't bring her jewlery box. It didn't feel right to just leave it lying around. Maybe if she just slides it out of view. She turns the choker, pulling the pendant out of view. It disappears beneath her hair.  
That was better.  
There’s nothing wrong about a plain black choker.  
It’s perfectly benign.  
And her eyes weren't red anymore.  
She practices a smile.  
It falters.  
Black is still his color. 

Well, that didn't help much. She purses her lips, walking out.  
“I know she’s here.”  
She nearly falls over hearing his voice. It felt so wildly out of place.  
“She doesn’t want to see you.”  
Shit.  
She hadn't just imagined it then.  
“Don’t. Waste. My. Time.”  
She walks faster down the hall. Just what the fuck was Bruce doing answering the door without Alfred. Jesus!  
“Victor.”  
“Princess.”  
His shoulders loosen just a notch. But his eyes are coals and his jaw is set like steel.  
Guess they're both angry now.  
Bruce looks between them, a crease between his brows. He is sweet to want to be so present and supportive. But she'd really rather he not stick around.  
“It’s fine.”  
She assures him, nudging him away.  
The crease between his brow deepens but he relents, casting one last glance at Victor.  
Victor only has eyes for her.  
“You blocked my calls.”  
He says it evenly. But his voice is hard and his jaw ticks.  
“I didn’t want to talk.”  
She crosses her arms.  
She’d made that perfectly obvious but apparently it didn’t matter much what she wanted.  
“You must have known I would show up.”  
“You are very persistent.”  
He had two trackers on her she knew about. She hadn’t run thinking he wouldn’t find her.  
But she couldn’t stand to stay there.  
“You’re not usually so...volatile.”  
“How was I supposed to take it then?”  
Her lip curls.  
“It’s only a two hour flight.”  
“Yeah, right,” she smiles with clenched teeth, “So you’re going to travel four hours to see me? You’re never going to have time for that,” he barely had four straight hours for her now, there was no way in hell, “And god knows neither of you are ever going to let me visit here,” her smile morphs to a grimace, “Once I’m there, I’m stuck there. Sophia’s never set foot outside of Miami,” not that she’s ever particularly cared, but, “You really think I could be happy with that?”  
Did he know her at all?  
She glares at him, pressing her lips into a tight line as she waits for him to change her mind.  
“We could figure something out.”  
He offers.  
She shakes her head.  
They could have figured something out if he had told her maybe.  
Now she just wants to claw out his eyes.  
“I think we’re past that.”  
“...He wants you home.”  
“Well…I’m not going willingly.”  
“Those are...fighting words.”  
They were.  
Why should she have to make all the hard decisions?  
“We are fighting.”  
He doesn’t make a move.  
Just stares intently at her, still as a statue except for his ticking jaw.  
Well, perhaps she should be pleased things weren’t going worse.  
She looks away.  
His eyes still make her weak.  
“Don’t come here again.”  
She moves to close the door.  
His hand shoots out, fingers biting into the edge.  
She freezes, staring up at him eyes wide.  
His hand flexes. Veins jumping under his skin. His gaze fixed to her neck.  
They’re black holes when they meet hers again.  
His lip twitches.  
Hers part.  
But what is there left to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry this took so long. And isn't very much. I've been busy and off my game. And I didn't want it to end too badly between them bc Victor's still gonna be around. But also not on good terms since you know he's behaved badly. Anyways next one should be on time and longer :D


	29. Chapter 29

Her dad was cutting her off.   
Well, that was fair. She made her move now he was making his.   
That was fine.   
Everything was fine.   
She’s screaming into a pillow because she is totally fine.  
Yeah.   
If anything this just made her more determined to manage without him.   
She couldn’t depend on his money forever. Might as well get into the habit of fending for herself now.   
Of course this would be a challenge. Even with her living situation dealt with there was the matter of her tuition come fall.   
And that was..significant.   
Very significant.   
Especially now that it was money she didn’t have. 

“I have money.”  
“I can’t take your money.”  
“You love spending my money.”  
Bruce reminds her.   
“Yes, obviously it’s always fun spending other people’s money,” and God himself could not pry that bouncy house from her cold dead hands, “But that was when I also had money and we were on even ground,” she was never Wayne rich, but she was more than well off, “I can’t take your money now!”  
She had some dignity. And she would like to not be a complete parasite, even if that would make things so much easier. There is only so much help you can accept from a person before you feel like absolute garbage and with Bruce she was already toeing that line.   
His age didn’t make things any easier.   
She should really be the one taking care of him. Not the other way around.   
It’s humiliating that she needs him this much. She can’t depend on him even more.   
“Okay, okay. But if you need money. I have money.”  
“I know,” everybody knows, “but it’s just too much,” she can’t owe him so so much, “I will think of something.”  
Her firm tone makes her sounds way more confident than she feels.   
But people figure these things out all the time. Take a gap year and get a job to save up for college. She could make that work.   
Probably.  
“I know.”  
Bruce agrees easily, so stupidly full of faith in her it’s unbearable.   
Great, now she really has to make it work. 

“Are you okay?”   
She doesn’t react in the slightest.   
“(Y/N)?”  
Ed takes a step closer and after much consideration hesitantly taps her on the shoulder.   
He normally wouldn’t take the risk of touching her for the sake of inner peace, but she was starting to freak him out.   
“Huh?”  
She blinks up at him, doe eyes wide, finally registering something.   
“Are you okay?”  
He asks again.   
He knew things hadn’t been good. But before she still managed to function pretty well.   
“Um…yeah….no. I’m uh, I’m in a really…unfortunate situation.”  
She says after much deliberation.   
“What’s wrong?”  
(Y/N) flounders, mouth opening, but for a moment no words leave her.   
“Well…my dad’s cutting me off because I won’t leave Gotham with him. I now have no money to pay for college and stay here which was the whole reason I wanted to stay. So right now I’m thinking about taking a gap year and getting a job. But I have well…this is pretty much all the experience I have which isn’t very much, definitely not enough to be able to make sixty grand in a year. And if I do stay here without my old man I’ll probably have to worry about more kidnapping situations unless my now ex continues to stalk me and give a shit. So…things are pretty bad basically, is the situation.”  
“Oh…wow.”  
Ed blinks.   
That was a lot.  
-Ex-  
The useless half of his brain decides to focus on.   
His eyes drop involuntarily to her neck.  
“Yeah, I know,” she sighs, closing her eyes, “I know.”   
He was focusing on the wrong thing here.   
She was confiding in him and he was being completely useless. Surely there was something he could do.  
“I could talk to Essen. See if maybe she could make this a paid internship.”   
He trails off.   
That wasn’t going to work and they both knew it.   
“Oh Eddie,” she smiles and his heart stutters, “that’s very nice of you. But let’s face it.” she sighs, “even if that could be done it would not be nearly enough,” that was true, the only reason he wasn’t in debt was because he had scholarships, “The only way people can make the kind of money I need to make is doing something illegal.” 

She rolls her eyes before stopping short.   
Oh.  
OH.  
“Could you…maybe not mention any of the things I just said to anyone?”   
She looks sheepishly up at him.  
“Yeah, sure.”   
Ed agrees easily.  
It is such a gift how easy he is to deal with.   
She chews on her bottom lip.   
She was going to have to take advantage of that.   
It’s not like she was getting anything done here today anyway.  
“...Is there any chance I could step out early?”

This is so stupid.  
She tells herself the thousandth time.   
Her grimace was starting to stick and she’s just about chewed her lip raw.   
But she’s already come all the way here. She might as well.  
God.  
She growls under her breath, and furiously straightens herself out.   
The door opens after her fourth knock. A large man eclipses the frame.   
“We’re closed.”  
He tells her.   
“Yeah,” she figured, it was like three thirty, “I’m here to see Oswald. Is he around?”  
He better be. She was already losing her nerve and confidence was key.   
If she could call it that. 

Butch looks her up and down.   
The mere concept of a woman calling Penguin Oswald other than his mother was…odd. It being a young woman in a schoolgirl costume-wait it actually looked like an actual uniform.   
That was worse.  
He would be a lot more comfortable if it was a bunch of guys with guns.  
He can deal with a bunch of guys with guns.   
This was…weird.   
“Who’s asking?”  
“(Y/N) Falcone.”  
“Oh,” shit, “Please come in.”  
He steps aside.   
She hesitates.  
“You’re not gonna…check with him first?”  
Well, he wasn’t going to close the door on a fucking Falcone to do that.   
“I’ll go tell him now. He’s in his office. You should wait inside.”  
He couldn’t let her wait outside. He had an active interest in staying alive and intact.   
“Okay, thanks.”  
She walks in, sliding slowly on a bar stool.  
“I’ll be right back. Uh help yourself to anything.”  
He waves at the bar.   
Shit, that wasn’t the right thing to say. He should offer to get her something. That was fucking rude. Of course now that he’s already in the hall it would be weird to go back and ask after he just said he was going to tell Penguin she was here.   
Fuck.  
He sighs.   
It’s probably fine. She didn’t seem so fearsome.   
But (Y/N)…   
His eyes narrow.   
Where has he heard that name?

“Enjoying yourself?”  
“Well,” he laughs through the blood in his mouth, “gotta try to find humor in this situation.”  
It was a really bad situation.  
Victor Zsasz stares down at him, tilting his head. Rows of clean blades set out and ready to go. He’d swapped the bloody ones. He couldn’t be quite so precise with dripping knives.   
“Do share,” Zsasz smiles sharply, “I love a good laugh.”  
Butch wonders if he has rows of teeth like a shark. He wouldn’t be surprised. The man looked so completely inhuman.   
That’s what made it so ridiculous it was funny, even now.   
“What is with the choker, man?” he lets out a breathy laugh, the only kind he can manage, “Property of Princess (Y/N)?”   
He’d almost missed the words, they were so tiny. But Zsasz had gotten pretty up close and personal once he started working some time after he lost his jacket he’d rolled up his sleeves and popped a few buttons. It was hard to look away from those infamous tallies, but even after blacking out twice, those words were hard to forget. Even in extra fine print.   
“Oh, you like it?” he flicks fondly at the silver heart before smirking wide, “She likes it.”   
Butch laughs again. Zsasz had always been kinda funny despite being such a scary sadistic fuck, but he never would have guessed Zsasz had someone steady. How did he even find the time?  
“I had no idea you were so whipped.”   
He chokes out.   
Blood falls out of his mouth.  
He was just dragging things out, but at this point he would take whatever break he could get.   
“Well, pain can be pleasing,” Zsasz hovers over the table before taking his pick, “Your pain for example,” he twirls the glinting blade, “I find very pleasing.”

…Princess (Y/N).  
(Y/N) Falcone.   
Well, that was…convenient.  
No wonder Zsasz was such a loyal dog. 

“Mr. Cobblepot?”   
He knocks thrice before entering.   
“What?”   
Penguin frowns, not looking up.   
“(Y/N) Falcone is here to see you.”  
“What? Why?” Penguin’s frown deepens, but he looks up, “Is she drunk?”  
“No…she’s just waiting at the bar. Said she wanted to see you. Should I send her in?”  
“Yes. Fine.”  
Penguin mutters, sitting back, hands flying to fix his tie. 

What was she doing here again?  
He hadn’t provoked her this time.  
She better not make a habit of visiting him. He had things to do.  
Then again why wouldn’t she be as much of a nuisance as that assassin of hers.  
Infuriating prick-  
“Miss Falcone.”  
He greets her as she steps in. She was in that uniform again.   
It does suit her.  
“Mr. Cobblepot.”  
Oh, she was being polite today. She must really want something.   
“This is unexpected.”  
“Is it?”  
That familiar edge of bitterness seeps through.  
It’s almost charming.  
He smirks, glancing briefly down.  
“To what do I owe the pleasure.”  
“Well…” she settles into the chair across his desk, wetting her lips, before fixing her gaze on Butch, “Does he have to be here?”  
“Butch? Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s completely trustworthy.”  
He wouldn’t have him around otherwise.  
“Is that right?”  
She looks unconvinced.   
“Yes, in fact your man Victor worked on him a while back to ensure just that.”  
Her lashes flutter.   
Interesting.  
His eyes settle on her neck.  
Very interesting.   
“But, of course he can wait outside if you prefer.”  
He smiles amicably.   
He was likely to get more out of her if she was comfortable.   
“Thank you.”   
She smiles diplomatically at him. It sounds unsurprisingly insincere. But there is still something satisfying about her gratitude.   
Her eyes trail Butch out the room.  
“Just how well do you know my father?”  
She starts again at the close of the door.   
“How do you mean?”  
Close is such a broad term. They certainly couldn’t be called friends. She knew that.   
Of course he doesn’t have friends.   
“I mean his current plans,” she clarifies, smile edging towards a grimace, “You must know. Everybody seems to have known before me.”  
She sounds bitter again. More so now.   
Of course.   
She was bound to find out eventually.   
“I am aware of his plans to retire.”  
“Yes. Miami.”  
Her mouth curves down.  
“Beautiful city.”  
“I’m sure.”  
You’d think she was talking about hell.   
“Miss Falcone,” he murmurs, “As delighted as I am to see you,” and he honestly was, “I don’t believe you just came by for small talk.”  
This whole honesty thing was charming. But more than enough of a warm up. He’d like to get to what she wanted.   
She hadn’t just come by to talk.   
“Of course not. I came to ask for a job.”  
“A job.”  
He repeats.   
He wasn’t expecting that.   
“Yes. I’d like to make money. So naturally, I need a job that pays.”   
“And you came to me.”  
“I only know so many people.”  
“Why not ask your father?”  
If it was a matter of money. He could hardly be her first choice. He certainly wasn’t her best choice. Even intoxicated she knew better than to ask anything of him.  
“We’re at a bit of an impasse at the moment,” her words are carefully chosen, but it’s clear just from the way she breathes in that it was quite the conflict, “He wants me to leave with him. I want to stay here. And now he’s cut me off,” her fingers curl around the arm of her chair, irritation bleeding through, “Which poses obvious problems.”  
Ah.  
“Well,” he pauses, “your father has been a great help to me. It would be in my best interest not to go against his interests.”  
As appealing as the idea was of having her working under him.  
“Of course,” she smiles easily, “But hiring me could work very for your interests.”  
“Is that right?”  
She was rather...fun. But that made her more a distraction than an advantage.   
There was no room in his life for distractions if he was to be king.   
“Well, Oswald,” she crosses her legs, “you’re a smart guy. Clearly,” she appeals to his ego with success, “I’m sure you could think of a bunch of ways to use me to your advantage,” he certainly could, “And besides, you need to hire people anyway. I might as well be one of them.”  
That was a decent argument. But-  
“I don’t usually hire people I don’t trust.”  
She’s too unpredictable for his liking. Even if she was far from a threat now she might become one given the opportunity.   
He wasn’t a threat once.   
Expansion is all about taking the right risks. He’s not so sure she’s worth the trouble.   
She scoffs.  
“You don’t trust anybody. The only person you have working for you is someone brainwashed to follow your every command. And everyone you’ve worked for with the exception of my father, although that is debatable, you have betrayed. But my motives are perfectly straight forward and easily manageable. I need money. An amount significant enough to cover my college tuition. So probably much more than anyone else would require for whatever bar related job you’d like me to do. But I would pose no threat to your ambitions. If anything I could help. You could use me as leverage, it’s always good have leverage against people who can take away your power. And let’s face it, if my father wanted you out right now you would be. Sly as you are, you’re very new. He’s established, people respect him.”   
There she goes threatening and undermining him to make a point.   
She knows just how to irritate and excite him.   
But it was a good point.   
It would be unwise to test Falcone like this while he’s still here. But once he’s gone, having his daughter would be as good a guarantee as any.   
Though he’s never had to pay a hostage before.   
He turns in his chair. 

“How are things with you and Victor?”  
She glares despite herself.   
But of course she should have expected he would ask. Especially while he could weed out an actual answer.  
“Why does that matter?”  
“I’m curious.”  
He shrugs.  
Well, she could tell he meant that. She supposed he had seen the start of things imploding. Sort of incited it. But this time she couldn’t entirely blame him.  
“We’re not together anymore.”   
There wasn’t much point pretending otherwise. He wasn’t stupid. She’s sure he’s already spotted the difference.   
“So…you’re in a particularly vulnerable position.”  
Oh, she did not like how he said that.   
“I wouldn’t go that far.”  
She did still have her gun. 

“Zsasz.”  
“Butch.”  
He doesn’t mind Butch. He doesn’t really mind anyone with a healthy amount of fear for him.   
“Your girl is here.”  
“What?”   
He must have misheard him.   
“Your girl,” Butch repeats, “(Y/N)? She’s talking to the boss.”

Victor bursts into the room, of course that man never does knock.   
But he’s never so…flustered. Eyes wild. None of his usual casual cool.   
So he really does love her.   
Now that is useful. 

“What are you doing here?”  
She gapes at him.  
“What are you doing here?”  
Victor snarls looking half feral.   
“(Y/N) and I were just discussing a job opening.”  
Penguin answers for her, thin lips a smile.   
No wonder he’s so fucking smug. Her father hadn’t just given him the club. Victor, too.  
Victor, too.   
God, she deflates. He’s inescapable.  
“You’re still doing that internship thing, aren’t you?”  
Penguin looks back to her.   
“Yes. Will that be a problem?”  
“No, not at all,” right, why would it be, he had that crush on Gordon and a general desire to know everything, “Why don’t you come in Saturday,” Penguin clasps his hands together, leaning back in his chair, “we can figure out the details then.”   
Saturday, that would work…well.   
“Sounds good.”  
She agrees.   
She’s already dug her grave might as well dive in. 

Victor plagues the edge of her vision.

She moves to leave.   
He moves to follow.   
What was she thinking-  
“Victor, was there something you wanted?”  
Penguin asks, chin resting above his clasped hands, beady eyes glinting.   
“No.”

She’s already gone. 

It’s insulting how easily he gets under her skin.   
Two minutes in his presence and he’s already burrowed back in her.   
She barely even looked at him.   
What was she even doing besides creatively fucking herself over?  
Even now that she’s left she can still feel him.  
Of course it’s easy to forget him during dinner with Bruce.   
But once she’s alone in her room…   
It doesn’t matter how many times she checks the curtains. She can still feel his eyes burning into her.   
She doesn’t get much sleep.


	30. Chapter 30

“How do you like your uniform?”   
“...I love it.”  
It’s the least convincing she’s ever uttered those words.   
But what else is she supposed to say? It’s a white blouse, black pants and a tie. There wasn’t much to it. Sure she the woman had also given her a tray before ushering her off to Penguin but that was it.   
“So…I’ll be waiting on people once they...show up?”  
She’d clearly come a lot earlier than she had to. Penguin hadn’t specified a time. Probably on purpose now that she thought about it. The jackass.   
“Yes, just bring people their drinks and if you hear anything interesting, let me know.”  
“Got it. Sure,” that sounded doable, “Is there anything you’d like me to do now?”  
Maybe she’ll hang out by the bar. It would be cool to learn about mixing drinks. If things were to fail horribly she could always aim to be a successful alcoholic. 

Oswald turns in his chair. Tragically, nothing was coming to mind at the moment.  
Oswald glances over at his monitor.  
On second thought, he could use a drink. 

“Hey,” she leans over the bar, “the boss wants a gin and tonic.”  
Frank, she thinks is his name nods and sets down the glass he’s cleaning to grab another. She sets down her tray and leans on the back of her hand, watching him work.   
“What are you doing?”  
His voice is startling, spine tingling, hair raising.   
She used to be better at sensing his presence.   
A pro. But lately her radar’s been fucked. Of course he would show up right when she’s stopped looking over her shoulder for him. How else was he going to drive her out of her mind?  
“I’m working.”  
She tells him knowing full well that’s not what he’s asking.   
Victor glowers down at her.   
She doesn’t know what he was expecting. It’s not like he wasn’t aware she could be a brat and frankly, lately she had plenty of reasons to be.   
His glare doesn’t fade in the slightest.   
Whatever, like that’s new.   
Frank finishes the drink with a lime wedge and sets it on her tray.   
She moves to take it.   
Victor’s palm comes down hard on the tray.   
Fine, she could just come back for that.  
She grabs the drink.  
He grabs her wrist.   
Goddamn it!  
She seethes, turning back to him with a glare of her own.   
“I’m being creative with my options.”  
“So what’s he getting out of it?”  
Victor leans in eyes narrowing.   
“Why don’t you ask him?”  
She bares her teeth in a weak attempt at a smile and reaches for the glass again.  
His grip tightens.   
She sighs loudly.   
It seemed plenty obvious. Penguin’s clearly insecure and bored and considering how hesitant he was up until Victor barged in-  
Victor was being pretty volatile himself now that she thought about it.   
“I think he likes knowing he has something over you. If he ever needs to have something over you.”  
Her lip quirks.   
His glare darkens.   
“So you leveraged my weakness.”   
Is that what she is. Well, he’s a nuisance to her.   
“Somebody was bound to do it,” her lip curls, it wasn’t like they’d kept things quiet, at all, “It might as well be me.”  
Better she get ahead of this than wait for some asshole to get the bright idea. That would undoubtedly end with her in some dark room, tied to a shitty chair, missing her fingernails. She’d like to not experience that on top of everything.   
Victor works his jaw, considering.   
She wonders if they still think along the same lines. Or if they ever did.   
“It would probably be easier for us both if I just killed you.”  
Victor muses.   
It’s oddly nonthreatening the way he says it.   
“Probably,” yeah, she wouldn’t have to think so much about her future if she was dead, “Why don’t you?”  
She cocks her head knowing full well why not.   
He would never risk the rift that would drive between him and her father. Strained as things were now dad was always preaching about family. And he’s one of those people who actually mean the shit they sprout. Victor was probably only aligning with Penguin because of her father suggested it. God knows he doesn’t respect Penguin the nearly as much. He’ll probably never have any connection of that caliber. She certainly couldn’t come close-  
He pulls her to him, hand curling around her throat. 

Kissing him back is second nature.   
She doesn’t so much as pause.   
It’s just comes as easily as breathing. 

She doesn’t slap him.   
She might as well have, the way she looks at him when she pulls away. Doe eyes blown wide, her perfectly red lined lips smudged and swollen.   
He’s scared of her, too.   
The things she can still do to him.   
The things they do to each other.  
He doesn’t stop her this time.

“Here.”  
She sets the drink on his desk.   
She probably could have done that better. But she’s not really capable of thinking straight right now. She just barely remember to fix her fucking face before bringing him his drink.   
Fucking Victor.   
If this was how things were going to be she would rather he just shoot her already and be done with it.   
She can still taste him.  
Penguin slides a bill on her tray.   
It takes her almost a full minute to process it.  
“...Thanks.”  
Was he seriously tipping her a hundred dollars for a drink from his own bar?   
She blinks at him.   
He doesn’t take it back.   
Well, weird flex but she certainly wasn’t going to complain.   
“You were gone a while,” Penguin’s thin lips curve in a way that might be a smile, “Find everything okay?”  
Something about the way his eyes glimmer just so.  
She grinds her teeth.   
That son of a bitch. So he saw the show. Hell, he probably saw Victor coming before he sent her. That was just so-  
Funny.   
Her life is hilarious.  
She smiles back at him.   
“Yeah, sorry boss. I got lost on the way back. Thanks for the tip.”  
She pockets the bill.   
She’s earned it.  
She turns to go, closing the door behind her.  
The smile slides off.   
She needs to toughen up. This wasn’t supposed to be easy. She knew this was going to be hell. But it was going to make her enough.   
And that would just have to be enough. 

Penguin sips at his drink, watching her.  
She stops in the hallway, leaning against the wall, wearing the loveliest, stricken expression before walking off. He trails her retreating figure.  
“There is something interesting about her. Don’t you think?”   
“Yes boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a lot of changes to what I had planned for the sake of flow so it's a short one. I thought about meshing this chapter with the next but that was just not going to happen on time. It made more sense to update now. Also I'm going to be busier than usual this coming week so idk if the next one will be on time. Figured I might as well tell you guys now. Anyways hope you guys like angst and drama cuz there's going to be more of that


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is dubious consent in this chapter.  
> It's not on-screen but it is clearly there given the context.

It would be wrong, so wrong to pursue her right now.   
She was clearly struggling.   
-But don’t you want her?-  
His traitorous mind whispers.   
His mirror is always lurking. Always taunting. The only thing that quieted him was killing Dougherty. But now he was being loud again.   
-If you want her you can’t just wait around. She’s not just close to you-  
His mirror reminds him.   
Images of her giggling with Alvarez play through his head. Just because she wasn’t with Zsasz anymore didn’t mean he didn’t have competition. He couldn’t just wait.   
There’s nothing wrong with just asking her.  
Even if his desires were often untoward, he side-eyes his mirror, his intentions weren’t. He would just like to spend time with her.   
He chews on his lip, staring at his phone. 

-Would you like to hang out sometime?

It’s just the sort of thing she needs.   
The bar was maddening for obvious reasons. The internship wasn’t quite so fun now that it was just another thing she had to do.   
And Bruce making such an effort for her. All the effort she’s put into not crying in front of him and he was still treating her like glass.   
They weren’t talking the way they used to. She kept him ignorant about her work situation and he’d stopped telling her about his detecting. She couldn’t exactly be mad at him. She would be a hypocrite. And he was so obviously doing it out of consideration for her sanity.   
It was insulting. But fair. What could she possibly do for him? She could barely help herself.  
She’s the one who needs him now. And she hates it.   
She hates needing people.   
Victor bleeds unwelcome into the forefront of her mind.   
There is no version of him that gives a damn about knocking.

-I’d love to.

She could use a distraction. 

She winds up going to his. It made sense. She couldn’t really afford fun activities like eating out. The only bar she could get in was the one she was avoiding. And honestly she wouldn’t put it past Victor to pop up just when she’s just stuffed her face full of pasta and drag down the mood by threatening someone.   
But hanging out at Ed’s wasn’t quite in the same vein as hanging out at Bruce’s.   
She wasn’t so naive.  
Actually having dinner at a grown man’s apartment, regardless of how well they know each other-  
She doesn’t want to think about that.   
She was already here.  
And Ed wouldn’t do that.   
Sure his gaze lingered at times. But almost everybody’s did.   
She’s everyone’s favorite spectacle and she’s dealt with worse than Ed.  
Jerome crawls up from the depths of her mind. She shakes him out.   
Ed’s nothing like him. Sure he’s kooky and awkward but he’s nice and he’s easy.   
She needs nice and easy.

“Sorry my place is-”  
“No! It’s nice. I like it.”  
She smiles up at him before continuing her scope of his place. It was nice, and in perfect order despite his massive amounts of stuff.   
Pretty much how she’d imagined. Ed was always organized.   
She wouldn’t mind getting a place like this. The high ceilings were a real plus. Then again Ed probably wouldn’t fit otherwise.   
She peeks out the window. Where was all that green light even coming from?  
“So what do you get on with outside of work?”

“Oh, not much,” Ed deflects, voice climbing just slightly up, he hadn’t done much other than cover up a homicide, “How about you? How’s the job hunt going?”   
“Oh,” she rolls back on her heel, fingers pulling from the edge of his window, looking less than thrilled, “I found one.”  
“That’s good, right?”  
“...yeah.”  
She winces.   
“You don’t seem too happy. Is the pay not good?”  
Honestly, he’s surprised she found a job so soon.  
“Oh the pay’s great. It’s everything else,” she combs through her hair, “I’m…working at Oswald’s.”  
As in-  
“Penguin’s club?”  
Ed blinks.  
That’s quite something.   
-Always surprising u,s isn’t she-  
“What do you…do for him exactly?” he frowns recalling their last conversation,“…or would it better I don’t know?”  
“Nothing so bad,” she glances off to the side, biting her lip, “...Can we maybe drink if we’re going to keep talking about this?”  
Well, he is curious and he did have some wine.   
-Bet she’s a cute drunk-

All it took was a full bottle to blur her vision and loosen her lips. Her face was in flames and Ed was looking a little red, too.   
“So he’s there?”  
She nods, head lolling.   
The ceiling spins.   
“I hate him so much.”  
She whispers, glaring intensely at the ceiling fan, because that’s who she needs to convince.   
“You still haven’t taken it off though.”  
Ed points helpfully at her neck.  
She moves her glare to him.   
“No,” she pouts, dropping her head on his couch.  
Fingers catching on the strip of leather.   
It hardly mattered how constant that reminder was when she saw him so often. But it was symbolic or whatever.   
She sighs deeper into Ed’s couch.   
They’d both long abandoned politeness for comfort. She was curled up with her feet on his couch, toes up pressing against his thigh. The pleats of her skirt no doubt a mess now.   
Ed was still looking fairly put together, buttoned up to his collar, tie straight, sweater only slightly rumpled.   
Nerd.   
“You’re still not over him.”  
He makes another helpful observation, leaning his head back too, matching her.   
She shakes her head, mushing her face deeper into the cushion.   
“It’s sort of impossible when I still see him all the time and-”  
He still kisses her like that.   
Her fingers brush over her burning lips.  
“And?”  
“...and nothing,” she didn’t need to tell him everything, she was already being entirely too open, “It’s just hard.”  
God, it would be so much easier if she was with someone like Ed.   
She looks considering at him.  
Easy to manage, easy to talk to. Smart enough to keep her interest. Nice, and she didn’t have to worry about him choosing loyalty to her father over her. He was bad to look at either. Tall and his cheek dimpled when he smiled.   
“What?”  
“What?”  
She blinks at him.  
“You said something.”  
“I did?”  
Weren’t they talking?  
“You said ‘tall’.”  
“Oh,” had she, “I’m really drunk.”  
She confesses.   
It’s not much of a confession. She was pretty clearly far from sober.   
She’s never been as good as handling alcohol as she is at drinking it.  
Hmm, Ed has nice hands, too. Long, thick fingers. And he could do such detailed work.   
Desire purrs through her.  
And that’s her cue to go.  
She straightens.   
She cannot afford to make another mistake with another guy. Best not to make a habit out of that.  
Victor was plenty bad enough.   
And Jerome was just-  
Sometimes it feels like she brings out the worst in everyone.   
“I should get going.”  
She declares.   
It’s a little less coherent than she was going for. Her usual skill for standing had also become lacking. She manages to stay upright for about five seconds before swaying and falling  
…and landing on Ed.   
He stiffens beneath her. Limbs freezing up. If she were sober enough to react she would, too.  
But she’s so so tired and he’s so…warm.   
In the span of a breath she’s melting into him like soft cheese, nuzzling into his neck.   
She hears a sharp breath and feels his pulse jump against her lip.   
Oh, he has turned red.   
Her eyes flutter.   
Maybe it would be alright if she just closed her eyes.   
Just for a second. 

She’s aching when she wakes and sore all over.   
Her bones feel liquid and her flesh swollen.   
It’s so disorienting paired with the pounding in her skull she doesn’t notice at first the fact that she’s naked.   
Naked.  
In Ed’s bed.  
Next to an equally naked Ed.  
“Oh fuck.”  
She stumbles out and nearly falls over, taking the sheet down with her.   
She can’t remember shit.  
She tears her fingers through her hair as though ripping her scalp could jog a memory from her useless fucking brain.   
Not that she can’t fucking guess.   
She ached down there, too.   
She watches his chest rise slow and steady as her skin turns to goose-flesh.   
They had definitely. And she couldn’t remember-  
She remembers feeling good.   
And considering his size it’s no surprise.   
But she felt like fucking shit right now.   
How did they even-  
At least he was still asleep.  
She really couldn’t talk about this.   
She can barely think about it.   
Or breathe. 

She finds her rumpled blouse by the nightstand. Her bra behind the headboard. Her skirt under the bed. There wasn’t much point bothering with her stockings. The one she found was torn.  
Her panties remained elusive but she was not sticking around looking for it.   
She flees his apartment. Air rushing between her thighs like a rude reminder as she hurries down the stairs.   
She just needs to get out of there, and never think about it again.   
Until she sees him again.   
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”  
What the fuck was she doing?  
How is she even managing this level of stupidity!   
She bursts out of Ed’s apartment complex and into a body.   
“Jesus!”   
She jerks back.   
Green eyes blink at her.  
Her soul partially returns to her body.   
“What are you doing here?”  
“What are you doing here?”  
Selina fires back with the usual attitude. Her brows going up as she takes in her lack of…presentation.   
She hadn’t exactly looked in the mirror and made an effort before running out. And she didn’t need to look to know she looked a fucking mess.   
“Don’t judge me.”  
“It’s just my face,” Selina says in semi-apology, “Are you heading back to Bruce’s?”  
“Yeah.”  
Shit, he was probably worried sick. She hadn’t said anything about staying out into the next day.   
She squints at the pale gray before sunrise.   
She is such an asshole.  
“Let me walk you.”

Selina’s not sure what exactly makes her feel the need to talk. She’s not a fan of talking.   
But (Y/N) s never looked quite so miserable. Sure she’s aware things have been going badly but (Y/N) had maintained her usual stellar appearance in spite of it all. Not so much right now.   
She was slipping.   
“You were right,” (Y/N) brow creases at the sudden turn, “It’s harder to tell him now,” her brow smooths in understanding, “I will,” she couldn’t keep it from Bruce forever, but how do you even start a conversation like that, “It’s just-”  
“Hard.”  
(Y/N) finishes for her.  
“Yeah.”  
She can be really aware of other people. It’s too bad she’s not always as so self aware.   
The self loathing is beyond strong with this one.   
“You know you’re allowed to fuck up, right?” Selina might as well return the favor with the advice giving, “I mean, you’re life is kind of a hot mess right now. So you’re allowed.”  
“Thanks.”  
(Y/N)’s face does something that could maybe be considered half a smile.  
“I mean it.”  
“I know.”   
They walk in silence. Selina watches her glazed off stare out of the corner of her eye.  
Bruce did most of the worrying. But honestly (Y/N) was starting to worry about her, too.   
“Fuck!”  
“What?”  
Selina jumps, startled by the sudden burst of energy.  
“I still have work later.”   
(Y/N) groans into her hands.  
Right.  
Penguin.  
Another thing she hadn’t really mentioned to Bruce. But (Y/N) clearly didn’t want him to know.   
“Get some sleep.”  
She couldn’t exactly call in sick, could she?  
“Yeah. Yeah.”  
(Y/N) nods, dragging her hands down her face, looking moments from collapse.   
Selina wishes she had better advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just pile more drama on to the fictional dumpster fire of her life? Yes, yes I did.   
> But will she catch a break in the next chapter?   
> No. Of course not. Silly you.
> 
> It's the end of the sememster so all the things are due *cries in illustration*. Anyway, that's why I'm late and also why the next update will likely take a full week from now and won't be coming this weekend. But I think I can make the next next one up. Idk we'll see. I actually thought about waiting longer and then updating the next few closer together. But I didn't want you guys to think I was dead or stopping. 
> 
> Thank you guys for understanding and commenting so many nice things. I really appreciate your interest and your comments are like fuel for my soul so thank you <3


	32. Chapter 32

Sleeping helped. 

She could manage.  
She’s really good at managing.  
She just needs to tell herself that…repeatedly. 

Bruce’s tight-lipped look of worry burns through the back of her mind. He hadn’t asked her anything about last night just looked at her crinkled his brow. 

She’s such a hypocrite.   
She wants to know everything about him. But can’t stand the thought of telling him her problems.   
But he’s already helping her so much. And she has so many fucking problems.   
She doesn’t want to risk losing him.   
He’s smart enough to figure out sooner or later that she’s not worth all the trouble.   
But if it’s inevitable she would rather it be later. 

“Not to criticize your process but you’ve been drying that glass for the last five minutes.”  
“Oh,” damn, she had, she blinks down the glass in her hand, “sorry.”  
She sets it down by the others and grabs the next.   
Who knew she would be spending so much of her time cleaning glassware?  
Her mind flits to the office.   
To Ed.   
She sets the glass down with a little more force than appropriate.   
Frank raises an eyebrow but doesn’t mention it.   
She appreciates that.   
She doesn’t appreciate her mind or herself for making things so difficult and giving her yet another thing she could not stand to think about. 

“Miss Falcone, you look well.”  
Penguin’s dainty little claws tap against the counter.   
“Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot.”  
She honestly can’t tell if he’s being less sincere than usual given the way that he is. But his trademark thin-lipped, beady eyed smile makes her skin itch.   
Still, she has to actually make an effort with him now.   
“Gin and tonic, please” Frank moves to grab a tall round glass, “Actually,” Penguin stops him, looking to her, “I’d like to see your take on it, Miss Falcone.”  
Her take on it?   
Fuck.   
She had looked it up and watched Frank make it. But recipes on the internet don’t all give you the same information. Some say one part gin two parts tonic some say three and it depends on preference. Like that’s helpful. All she knows about him is that he prefers to be a pain. And if he was just giving her hard time it wouldn’t even matter if she managed to get it right.   
Oh.  
Actually that took some of the pressure off.   
Well, she moves to grab the glass Frank was reaching for.   
Ice first she knows that. Long ass ice cube thing. Okay. She plops it in.   
Gin. There’s more than one bottle of gin and more than one bottle of tonic.   
Of course there is. She goes with the ones that look the most expensive.   
It’s really his own fault if it’s terrible.   
She knew he knew she didn’t know what she was doing.   
But she can at least slice a lime relatively nice.   
Knives she could handle well enough.   
Victor curls in her head like a whisper.   
She slides the drink over.   
“...Not bad.”  
“...okay.”   
What else is she supposed to say?   
Oh shit right-   
“Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot.”   
She smiles widely at him.  
He slides her a tip.   
Another hundred dollar bill.   
Yeah, she could manage.   
She folds the bill in her pocket.   
She was handling things fine.   
Great even. 

She starts cleaning another glass.   
Frank flips through his phone. They didn’t exactly have any customers, the place wasn’t open yet.   
“24 hours ago six inmates broke out of Arkham Asylum and have already taken lives. Spelling the word ‘MANIAX!’ by dropping seven men off the building of the Gotham Gazette. It seems they have united to wreak havoc on our city…”   
Her breath catches in her throat.  
~Dollface, I get this isn’t a nice place but it’s going to take a while for me to break out of here~  
Her luck couldn’t possibly be so bad.   
“...If you have any information please inform the GCPD. Do not approach these people. They are considered armed and dangerous…”   
But it did sound like just the sort of thing he would think to do.   
Horrible and overly dramatic.  
She edges the glass back towards the counter.   
Maybe, maybe it wasn’t him. There are countless people in Arkham, the odds are-  
“...Jerome Valeska..”  
The glass shatters as it hits the floor.   
This couldn’t be happening.  
This could not be happening. 

How did he even get out? 

It was probably in everyone’s best interest if he just gave her some space.   
Victor grinds his teeth, thumb digging into the back of his knife as he sulks in a dark corner.   
Knowing that didn’t make staying away easier. Especially when he knew she was here right now.   
He plays with the edge of his knife.   
Technically he could watch her and still give her space.   
“Uh dude.”  
Dude?  
Was this guy suicidal?  
Oh, it was the bartender.   
He didn’t hate the bartender.  
“Your girl is freaking out behind the counter.”

The girl was shaking, curled up on the floor with her back against the bar looking like some poor wounded animal.   
And he didn’t know why.   
Oswald takes a step closer.   
He usually managed to get some sort of reaction out of her. That’s what made it so fun.  
But she doesn’t react.   
Doesn’t even look at him. Just stares off at some nonexistent space beyond mumbling something incomprehensible.   
“Miss Falcone?”  
He takes a step closer.  
He’s slammed against the wall.   
“What the fuck did you do?”  
Zsasz says through clenched teeth, voice low and even, black eyes cold fire.   
His heart drops to his stomach.   
But his indignation soon trumps his fear.   
“You’re wrinkling my suit, you heathen!”   
Oswald seethes, pushing at him.  
He might as well try to bend stone. Zsasz doesn’t budge.   
“You work for me!”  
He reminds him, incredulous.  
“And we have very clear terms.”  
Zsasz glares back.  
It is interesting her hold on him.   
And her choker was still lacking that pendant. 

“Victor?”  
It’s barely a whisper.   
He’d near missed it with all the blood rushing to his ears.  
But Zsasz is off him in a second.   
Letting him slide rather unceremoniously off the wall.   
He grinds his teeth, finding his footing leaning against the shelf.  
Outrageous.   
“Princess, what’s the matter?”  
Victor actually hovers over her.   
Oswald is torn between anger and interest.   
“I don’t know,” she shakes her head between shuddering breaths, her eyes glistening, lips trembling, looking unbelievably delicate, “Everything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so short I know and after such a long wait. I'm sorry. My friends aren't really talking to me and I'm super bummed.   
> But hey excitement? Jerome! Things are picking up. (They have been for weeks I'm a really slow writer.)  
> Can you guess how the reunion's gonna go?   
> The setting will become clear next chapter. And it will actually happen next next chapter. But I'm curious about your predictions.


	33. Chapter 33

“You gonna tell me what that means?”  
Victor works his jaw, glaring ahead.  
It’s oddly easy to be calm with him so angry.  
“I told you, it didn’t mean anything. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately.”  
Lies always come more easily mixed with truth. She watches the city blur outside the car window.  
He’s quiet for a moment.  
Stewing.  
“Who were you with last night?”  
Shit. What gave it away?  
Or had he been watching.  
“..Nobody.”  
“I see we’re making a habit of lying.”  
Well, they were both guilty of that.  
She glares at him.  
“I don’t owe you anything.”  
They weren’t together.  
Victor’s frown deepens.  
“What are we doing here?”  
“You insisted on driving me.” She reminds him.  
There had been no refusing him. And since dad was long gone and she'd clearly disturbed him with her breakdown she figured he wouldn’t ship her to Miami right then.  
“You don’t have to be here today," He looks at the precinct building.  
“How would you know?”  
“You could tell me.”  
She eyes the jumping vein at his temple.  
“I don’t want to.”  
This had been tasking enough.  
Clinging to him in that moment had come naturally, but it wasn’t worth the rest of it. And it wouldn’t happen again.  
She moves to get out of the car.  
He snags her wrist. Eyes searching the depths of hers.  
“If you tell me I can fix for you.”  
She yanks her hand away.  
As if distance would fix things.  
“I don’t need you to fix it for me.”  
“You were crying in my arms an hour ago," he near growls.  
“Don’t remind me," she says harshly.  
Why did everything have to be so difficult?  
He glares up at her.  
She wasn’t making things any easier for him either.  
Maybe they just weren’t good for each other.  
She crosses her arms tight over chest.  
As if distance could fix things.  
It wouldn't. But maybe it would make things easier.  
“I don’t want you to fix it for me. Okay?”  
That was the truth at least.  
She doesn’t wait for an answer. 

“Have you seen the news?”  
Bruce’s worry rings clear through the phone.  
“...Yeah.”  
She licks apart her lips. They’d near merged she’d been pressing them so tight together.  
“...Where are you?”  
Right, she was supposed to be back by now.  
“...I’m at the precinct.”  
“Why? It’s Sunday.”  
How exactly can she tell him the truth and not make him worry?  
“(Y/N)…” Bruce sighs, “please…” he might as well squeeze her heart in two, “talk to me…I don’t want to pry. But I worry about you.”  
She closes her eyes.  
“I know. I’m sorry,” she is, “I just- I don’t know what to say.”  
How could she possibly burden him with all her bullshit?  
She’d given him plenty to deal with. She just couldn’t pile more on.  
“...Okay,” Bruce relents, he never does press her too hard, “When will you be back?”  
“Soon I promise.”  
She didn’t want to stay longer than she had to. She’d been lucky enough to avoid Ed so far. And she didn’t need to be here much longer, from the looks of the paper outline.  
This was really just for her peace of mind.  
Just in case.  
She was out of practice.  
And she couldn’t really practice shooting at Bruce’s and avoid talking to him about it.  
“I’ll be back for dinner. I promise.”

Ed wakes groggy. His head a jumbled mess.  
What even happened last night?  
His head screams. Punishing him for trying to remember.  
He grimaces.  
And stops.  
Since when did he sleep naked?  
Hadn’t (Y/N) come over?  
He squints at the extensive light in the room.  
What time was it?  
He searches for his phone.  
It’s not where he left it.  
He’d slept into the afternoon.  
His frown deepens.  
He blinks.  
That couldn’t be right.  
It was Sunday.  
He’d lost a day?  
The last thing he remembered was (Y/N) on his couch. They were talking and drinking and-  
Had they done something?  
Images flash through his mind.  
(Y/N) lying exposed on his bed.  
A memory or a fantasy?  
He had so many in that vein.  
It might explain why he was naked. But wouldn’t she have waken him when she left if they had-  
It would have to wait. He shakes his head.  
He was very late for work. 

Breathe in.  
Breathe out.  
She pulls the trigger.  
Not bad. She purses her lips.  
But it could be better.  
“You’re not supposed to be in here.”  
Gordon frowns at her from the door. It might be intimidating if she had less experience with intimidating men. And honestly Gordon just wasn’t scary.  
But he could be such a square.  
“Are you gonna tell on me?”  
She crosses her arms.  
“What are you doing?”  
“Seriously Jim?”  
She arches a brow.  
He finds her shooting at a target in a room meant for shooting at targets and that’s what he asks her.  
It’s so typical she shouldn’t even bother being annoyed.  
She’s too tired to be annoyed.  
“Is someone bothering you?”  
He asks in that way of his. All…concerned.  
How does he manage concern for everyone? It must be so exhausting.  
“...This is just for my piece of mind.”  
He moves closer. Hesitant but unrelenting in his prying.  
“I-uh, I heard you and Victor broke up.”  
Had he?  
She grinds her teeth.  
Who hasn’t?  
“It’s not him.”  
Sure, Victor was bothering her. But not how Gordon was thinking.  
“So help me out here. I mean, you look like a mess.”  
Wow.  
“I cannot believe you’re dating Lee,” she forgoes her filter as he does his, “You are so unlikable.”  
She’s gifted with his eyebrows flying up his forehead before settling back down.  
He turns to leave.  
She balks.  
Hit a nerve there then.  
She wasn’t expecting him to give up so easily.  
And she was disappointed.  
Shockingly.  
God, did she want to tell someone?  
“My ex.”  
She blurts out.  
He stops. She hadn’t meant to say it so urgently. Or at all.  
But who better?  
It was Gordon who caught him the first time. Of all her options, there were much worse than Gordon to talk to.  
Painful as this was.  
He looks at her.  
“Not Victor,” she clarifies, “Before…Victor,” he waits for her to continue, she could appreciate that, he didn’t have to humor her, “he recently…” very recently, “broke out of Arkham. So..that’s why.”  
Because she’s too stubborn to turn to Victor and too inexperienced to feel safe.  
She needed reminders that maybe she could manage.  
She watches as his eyes widen in horrified realization.  
Of all the unlikely candidates. It could only be him.  
She frowns, taking Gordon in more fully.  
“Where are you coming from anyway? You smell like gasoline.”  
She scrunches her nose.  
Gordon hesitates.  
That’s not good.  
If Gordon’s hesitating to say something with his fat mouth-  
“There was a shootout with the Maniax… They just blew up a bus full of cheerleaders.”

“Whoa hey, just take a breath. It’s-”  
“It’s not okay.”  
She glares at him between strained breaths.  
“I know.”  
He winces. He wasn’t really the best at this. He had more tack than Harvey, but that really wasn’t anything worth bragging about.  
“He’s looking for me.”  
She whispers.  
“You don’t know that.”  
Jerome didn’t seem quite so preoccupied beyond the burning and shooting.  
“I think I know him a little better than you.”  
She manages another glare at him.  
That was probably true. But considering-  
He hoped that wasn’t completely true.  
“Well, you’ll be safe here,” he assures her, then blinking at the paper outline, “And, you’re a hell of a good shot.”  
He wasn’t expecting her to be horrible considering her lineage. But she was a much better shot than he would have guessed.  
“I learned from the best," she mutters.  
“I believe you…Look, you won’t have to use that. I’ll have someone take you back to Wayne manor,” she looks to him alarmed, “I’m a detective” he reminds her, “…And Bruce told me.”

“He told you to check up on me.”  
She says it like an accusation.  
He doesn’t deny it. Just gives her a look.  
She rolls her eyes. She supposed such a request wasn’t something she could have refused Bruce either. Damn bleeding hearts and puppy dog eyes.  
Gordon looks away.  
The dark circles under his eyes near etched in.  
Something else they have in common.  
But she had better concealer.  
“This must be rough for you, too. Having to catch him again. He’s really…something.”  
She’s not sure how else to describe Jerome.  
“It’s not just him.”  
Gordon sighs.  
“Trouble in paradise?”  
He glares at her this time.  
She was being a little bratty. Always jumping to that.  
“My ex also broke out of Arkham."  
“You’re kidding.”  
“No.”  
Gordon grumbles, looking at her like he’s never joked in his life.  
“Well, that is unfortunate.”

~She whimpers beneath him, writhing as he sinks into her, shuddering around him, fingers curling into the sheets.~

Ed blinks, flustered.  
Another one.  
It was starting to concern him.  
He tugs at his shirt collar.  
But (Y/N) hadn’t said a word. He’d checked his phone a thousand times.  
He would see her tomorrow and know for sure. He wouldn’t have hurt her.  
Even if he wasn’t.. himself.  
Doubt burns through him.  
Surely, his mirror wouldn’t go so far as to fuck her and keep him ignorant.  
But he was being so quiet.  
And it is not at all out of character for the bastard to taunt him.  
But would he go so far?  
All he does is tell you how much he wants her. Remind you how much you want her and this would surprise you?  
“Mr. Nygma,” Miss Kringle stands before him, “You wanted these files.”  
“Oh,” he blinks, how long had he been standing here unmoving, “yes. Thank you.”  
“Not at all.”  
She smiles politely.  
He turns to head back.  
She turns with him.  
Ah, they were heading in the same direction then. They share an awkward grin.  
The precinct was busy today. What with the ever escalating crimes of Arkham escapees. That had been shocking news.  
He wonders what (Y/N) thinks of it.  
He blinks.  
Was he seeing her now, too?  
But no, it was her! Speaking to Detective Gordon.  
His frown deepens.  
She didn’t like Gordon enough to seek him out.  
And yet it looked almost as though he was consoling her.  
And she was letting him?  
Gordon places a hand on her shoulder.  
Jealousy surges through him like a tidal wave.  
Near blinding him with rage.  
What was he doing touching what was  
-MINE-  
He steps back startled.  
Since when did their thinking align?

“If he does contact you in any way-”  
“You’ll be the first to know.”  
She finishes for him, managing half a smile.  
It was sort of nice having someone look out for her. Even Gordon. Maybe especially. He didn’t want anything or expect anything. And there was no danger of things getting out of hand with him the way they tended to with her and men. Maybe she even liked him.  
A little.  
“Hands up.”  
The both turn towards the entrance.  
“Hi Jim,” the leggy blonde purrs, strutting into center view with her hands up, “long time no see.”  
“Barbara.”  
Gordon lurches forward.  
She turns to leave, lingering. Still smiling.  
It could not be a more obvious lure.  
“You’re not seriously following her!”  
She grabs him by his sleeve.  
He looks down at her surprised. As if no other option crossed his mind.  
“She’s obviously here for me.”  
“Yeah, obviously!”  
That didn’t seem fucking suspicious? That didn’t feel off?  
She gawks at him.  
“It’s fine. I’ll-” he looks out the door, “I’ll be right back. Wait here. I’ll take you home myself.”  
Her stomach twists.  
Knots on knots on knots.  
Something bad was going to happen.  
She edges towards the wall.  
A group of officers walk in seconds after Gordon’s gone.  
She might not have noticed if she wasn’t so on edge.  
But she doesn’t know any cops with red hair.  
Her eyes dart uselessly to the door.  
There was no leaving now. They were blocking the exit. And there was no hiding in the back she was too far.  
The first shot goes off.  
She dives behind a file cabinet.


	34. Chapter 34

Just make it out alive.  
You promised you’d be back for dinner.  
And don’t let him see you.

She grimaces. 

It was hardly a fight. The shootout ended as quickly as it had started. And as far as she could tell, his group had cleaned house and were now combing the area for survivors.  
They were being thorough and there was no way she would stay hidden for long. It was a really shitty spot.  
Even with her gun. She could what? Take out one before the rest turned her to Swiss fucking cheese. No. Not an option.  
Not a good option anyway.  
The steps grow closer.  
There was no way for her to guarantee her survival in her current state. They were killing everyone on sight. 

The only way…the only way was if he let her live.  
She would have to get his attention.  
Fuck.

Another step and she’d be seen.  
And she’d be dead.  
It had to be now. 

“J!”  
She screams.  
Her panic makes her sound alien. She hardly recognizes herself. What if he doesn’t-

Blood sprays her.  
Misting her face and neck and chest, her parted lips.  
She gags, then freezes.  
Her eyes meeting the dead man’s. There’s a gun in his hand and a hole through his head.  
He was one that was turning the corner.  
One of his. 

“Dollface?”  
Jerome’s voice echos through the precinct.  
He sounds curious.  
But he had to have been certain enough.  
Then again, Jerome didn’t seem too preoccupied with human lives. Certainly not lately.  
She looks at those dead eyes.  
Dead eye really, there wasn’t much left of the other.  
She stands slowly, shaking. Only managing by clinging to the cabinet and stumbles out into his line of sight.  
It was quite a different view standing than it was crouched on the floor behind a cabinet, blocked by the desks. There are bodies strewn over the floor, slumped over chairs. Papers scattered everywhere. Like a bomb had gone off. Had there been an explosion?  
She can’t be sure. Just that it had been loud.  
And this was what was left. 

“Funny seeing you here.”  
Jerome stares at her with wide eyes with a wider grin.  
Another gun cocks.  
“Don’t even think about it,” he snaps, looking vicious, “She’s off limits,” he points the gun at one of his remaining men, then waves it, “Check the back.”  
So he was in charge. 

She shudders and sighs all at once.  
There was a reason things had been so very bad.  
But this could be good for her right now.  
Jerome wouldn’t kill her.  
He’d miss her too much.  
It’s everything else he would like to do she needs to worry about. 

“What are you doing here?”  
Jerome turns back to her.  
She notices for the first time, Commissioner Essen tied to the chair behind him. Shocked still, horrified and no doubt confused.  
He has her right at the edge of the landing. The view must really be something. She’s sure he had put that into consideration. He could have just killed her in her office. But he wanted Essen to see. Seeing isn’t the same as just knowing.  
Her heart rattles in her chest, frantic.  
She doesn’t want to see Essen die.

“Are you here because of me?”  
Jerome grins, pulling her attention back to him. He looks delighted at the thought, because what could be more romantic.  
“No, I intern here.”  
Her voice sounds separate from her body. Far too even to be her.  
Odd. She’s so far from calm.  
“You’re kidding! What are the odds?”  
She doesn’t know how to answer that.  
What are the fucking odds?  
One in a million? Billion? Trillion?  
It was kind of funny. Her lip quivers. She would have been better off if she hadn’t come here. Jerome didn’t actually know enough about her to find her. She never gave him her last name. Never gave him a number or an address or anything useful.  
She was always the one who went to find him.  
And now she’s found him again.  
A silly, breathless, completely inappropriate laugh escapes her.  
Her brain too scattered to stop it.  
Jerome grins wider.  
Making her laugh was one of his favorite games.  
“You know,” he smirks, “I think red really suits you.”  
Her mouth falls slack at the reminder. She’d forgotten for a moment, the blood.  
“Thank you,” she murmurs, staring down at her blouse.  
It wasn’t white now.  
She ought to thank him, it was his design.  
“Did you miss me?” he asks eagerly, “You must have a little screaming out like that,” his eyes light up, “brings back memories,” the words spark the part of her that knows to blush, “I missed you,” he tells her, coming closer, “I thought about you everyday,” he whispers.  
Her blush deepens-Another game.

He closes the distance between them. Pressing flush against her. Chest meeting chest, hips and legs. His breath falls against her cheek.  
She stares blankly at the sliver of neck above his collar as her ears grow hot.  
He rocks his hips into hers.  
She gasps, and jumps back, thighs hitting the hard edge of a desk. Jerome presses forward, reacquainting her with another hard-  
Her mouth parts and she arches into him before recoiling. Heel hitting the leg of the desk.  
Shame makes her flush darker. She stares at her shoes, horrified.  
Even now…this is how she reacts to him? 

Jerome takes a step back to look at her. To look pleased.  
The smugness etched deep in his grin.  
And why wouldn’t he be?  
She just confirmed every crazy, stupid, horribly wrong fantasy he’s had.  
She wonders what he’s thinking now. If he would have her against the desk or force her down.

“You know,” he leans back in, caging her between his arms, as if she could run otherwise, “I was thinking about how I might find you. All our time together, yet you never told me anything too useful, did you?” he pouts, feigning hurt, “The school uniform was the only real clue. Of course there’s more than one school around and you never mentioned cheer-leading, but…that have been such a treat,” she looks at him with renewed horror, “still I’m glad to find you here. The hat suits me, dontcha think?”  
“You look good,” she admits. 

He kisses her.  
Pounces on her really.  
Honestly, she’s surprised he waited so long. 

“Leave her alone!”  
Essen shouts from above.  
(Y/N) blinks up at her, feeling rush of appreciation. And horror.  
That was suicidal.  
“Commissioner,” Jerome pulls away, “I almost forgot today is supposed to be your day.”  
“Wait!” she grabs his free hand. Jerome stops, at least he stops, “Surely-surely, you’ve accomplished enough. No one is going to be forgetting this.”  
“It’s part of the plan, Doll.”  
Plan? Since when did he make plans?  
“So change the plan! You’re the one in charge. Jerome, please! I like her.”  
She pleads, and prays his desire to make her smile might trump his new found bloodlust. Surely, he’s satisfied that urge already.  
“It isn’t personal. It’s business.”  
He sounds almost like Victor in his matter-of-fact manner as he steps out from her grip and moves to pull the trigger.  
But Victor wouldn’t hurt her. At least not like this. 

It’s just him and her and Essen.  
His guys are still busy looking elsewhere.  
She could stop him.  
She has to.  
Essen’s actually decent.  
Regardless of whatever he used to mean to her and whatever he could still make her feel. After all that he’s done. There was no question.  
She had to.  
“You’re right,” she whispers, “It isn’t personal…I can’t let you kill my boss.”

Jerome tenses at the sound of her clicking the safety off her gun.  
“I just saved your life.”  
He looks back at her, furious.  
He seriously expected gratitude for that?  
“You also endangered my life.”  
Her stance doesn’t falter.  
“You wouldn’t,” he narrows his eyes, “you couldn’t.”  
He pulls the trigger.  
So does she. 

Her shot knocks him off balance as it hits his shoulder, making his ping against the railing instead of going through the commissioner.  
She can tell by the look on his face she’s surprised him. She’s surprised herself, too.  
So when he turns immediately to fire at her she doesn’t even flinch until the she’s knocked her flat on her back and her gun out her hand.  
The bullet like a spot of fire in her shoulder, having burnt her flesh as it tore in. Warmth spreads as her blood seeps. 

“You ungrateful bitch.”  
Jerome stands over her, glaring down.  
She’s never seen him so angry at her.  
If she could access her full range of emotion she would be more afraid. But shock overwhelms her.  
He raises his foot and brings it slowly down on the wound.  
She screams as shock turns to pain and the pain is blinding. 

Her face is wet with tears when she can see clearly again and his is covered in blood.  
A violent splat across his face.  
New.  
And clearly-  
“I can’t have you holding me back,” Jerome looks stonily down at her, disappointed, that was new, too, “I’m going to be a star,” he’s tells her, “You should be more supportive.”  
“Boss, we gotta go,” his jaw ticks, and his gun goes off before she can even blink, “Some people are so rude.”  
He seethes.  
She shakes.  
He glowers at her, considering.  
“Funny,” he squints at her gun, “I remember you having better aim.”  
She could have killed him.  
Essen’s blood stretches with his grin.  
She should have killed him. 

“Fuck. You.”  
“Later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, it really took me a million years to write this. I'm so sorry. Probably not the last time I'll update way late if I'm being honest, but hope you guys liked it<3


	35. Chapter 35

“Dollface, the games are all rigged.”  
“Bet I could still win something.”  
“You’d have better luck with the knives. I’m a pro. ya know?” Jerome boasts, “And I’d teach you for free.”  
“Solely out of the goodness of your heart I’m sure,” she palms his chest, his smirk deepens, “and not at all for the excuse to press up against me.”  
She taunts him, swaying as she leans in to press up against him herself. She likes being close to him, too. But he was so obvious about his wants. She can’t resist teasing him.   
Especially now that she’s aware she has this much power.   
She might be his doll, but she could toy with him as much as he liked to play with her.   
And Jerome loved to play with her.   
Maybe more than he liked to share.   
She looks to Miah over his shoulder. Standing a little behind, hair still combed neatly in contrast, glasses glinting.   
He stares back at her impassively.   
She wonders if he’s more jealous of Jerome, or more angry with her for humoring him.  
She steps back.  
“You can teach me later. For now, let me dazzle you,” she winks, turning on her heel as she takes the gun.   
She makes every shot. 

\------------------

She opens her eyes to white ceilings, an IV drip and her brother.   
“What the fuck,” she croaks.  
Of all the horrible things to wake up to.  
“That’s an interesting way of saying ‘thank you’,” Mario snarks, sticking out his stupidly large jaw.   
Her shoulder is heavy with bandages and the dull ache of a healing wound.  
“I need to thank you for you to do your job?”   
“People tend to be a little grateful after I save their life.”  
Well, she’s not one of those people.   
“What are you even doing here?” shouldn’t she be waking up to a nurse, “Surely, there are other people who need saving.”

Had there been any other survivors?  
She doesn’t want to hear it from him. 

“None of them are my sister.”   
She looks at him, unimpressed, then looks away.   
“You don’t need to say shit like that. Dad can’t hear you.”  
Shit, dad.  
The monitor beeps in warning as her heart pounds into overdrive.  
“Does dad know?”   
“There was a shootout at the GCPD of course he knows.”  
Right, but-  
“Does he know I got shot?”  
He would take her away kicking and screaming if he heard about this. There is no way he would let her stay in Gotham after this.

Would that really be so bad?

“I’m just about to call him.”  
Mario takes out his phone.   
“No! Don’t!”  
She lunges at him.   
She needed to think about this. Once dad knew it wouldn’t matter what she wanted. 

What does she want?   
To die here?

Mario for his part does actually stop to glare at her.   
“Just how fucking stubborn are you?”   
He scowls.  
At least that was familiar.   
She glares back, incensed. 

It was better to die in Gotham than suffocate in Miami. 

What did he care anyway?   
When did he ever-  
“What the fuck do you care if I live or die?” she snarls.  
“You’re my sister!” he hisses.  
“Since when?!”  
When had that word ever meant shit coming out of him?   
“I didn’t work overtime digging lead out of you so could die tomorrow.”  
Oh, so that’s what this was about.   
It was wrong of her waste his precious time.   
“I didn’t ask you to save me.”  
Tears bead at her eyes in her frustration. He was going to hold this over her now, too? Like she could help that she got sent to this fucking hospital and landed him. Like she could help her mother was an evil bitch.   
She tears out her IV.  
“What the fuck are you doing?”   
“If you’re just going to tell dad to take me away what does it matter? You already ‘saved’ me. Just fuck off! I’m leaving,” she sniffles, stumbling out of bed.   
She’d rather spend her limited time in Gotham with Bruce than with fucking Mario and his fucking bullshit-  
He yanks her back, meaty hand closing tight around her wrist. Knocking the wind out of her as she lands back on the bed.   
“I can and will restrain you.”  
His voice is a low rumble.   
Unrelenting.  
Like dad when he’s sick of letting her argue with him.   
It wasn’t like she could ever win.   
The dam bursts and tears flow freely down her face.   
It’s beyond humiliating.   
She breathes in gasps.   
She hasn’t cried like this in front of him since she was eight years old. 

Crybaby. 

She looks everywhere but him, even as tears blur her vision. But he’s on top of her and his grip is unbreakable, and there is nowhere for her to look. Nowhere for her to run.

Mario sighs.   
“I don’t have to call him. But even if I don’t, he’ll hear it from someone else. He still has people here you know.”  
She hiccups, wetly, frowning.  
“But…you won’t tell him?”  
Why?  
Since when did he care if she was miserable.   
Mario doesn’t answer, just stands and sticks the needle back in her arm.   
“Don’t rip it out again.”

“Dr. Calvi.”  
Mario straightens.   
“Detective Gordon.”  
“(Y/N)…how are you?” Jim asks, noticeably disturbed by her tears.   
She hurriedly wipes at her wet face. It was bad enough being seen crying by Mario.   
“She’s fine. Just having tantrum.”  
“A tantrum?” is he serious, “Fuck you.”  
“Ha, that’s my sister for you.”  
“Sister?”  
Jim blinks owlishly at them. There was little resemblance. Thank god.   
“Don’t stress her out too much, she’s already unstable. Call if you need something,” Mario heads toward the door.   
She straightens at him leaving.   
What was keeping him from calling dad the second he left the room? Had he just agreed to save himself from the hassle-  
“I’d worry more about how your precious guard dog reacts,” Mario mutters.

Victor.   
Her heart plummets to her stomach.   
Shit.   
Victor.   
She touches her bare throat.   
They must of taken it off during surgery. 

“Dr. Calvi is your brother?”   
Jim brings her back to the present.   
He’s looked better.   
“Half-brother.”  
If anything.   
“Did he-did he hurt you?”  
She blinks up at him. Taking in his furrowed brow and wide eyes.   
How nice.  
“No. What do you wanna ask me?”  
She looks away. Already regretting biting that bullet. She doesn’t think she’d like very much to go into the specifics of what happened.   
Jim settles in a chair.  
“Just tell me what you can. Whatever you think is important.”   
She frowns.  
“He’s a lot more...goal-oriented,” she doesn’t think he used to be, at least not so unmoving, “He wouldn’t be swayed. I asked him not to kill the commissioner. But he-” she stutters, “he used to care a lot more about what I wanted, because he likes me,” but she’s burned that bridge, hadn’t she, “Probably not as much now that I’ve shot him.”  
“You shot him?” Jim snaps to attention.  
She nods.  
“Yes, in the shoulder. That’s why he shot me.”   
Without hesitation.   
But had she hesitated shooting him?  
“That could be something. He would have to get it out, wouldn’t he?”  
She nods, reluctantly optimistic.   
“It could have gone through though. I didn’t see clearly. But he seemed, much better off than me.”  
Certainly, he was well enough to kill two more before going on his merry way.   
Her frown deepens.  
“How did he break out?”  
“They released some sort of gas, knocked everyone out.”  
“Doesn’t sound like his style,” she mutters.  
But what did she know about his style.  
What does she even know about him.   
“He’s different,” she whispers, “But still the same,” she hesitates, “he said the thing with the cheerleaders- was him trying to find me. I never told him anything useful. He only knew I was a student.”  
Jim looks disturbed for her sake. 

“How-” she starts, and stops.   
Does she ever want to know?  
“How did he do it?” She’d been lucky enough not to see how he killed Essen, but- “was it quick?”  
Jim looks haunted, and she’s sorry to have brought it up.  
“She was still breathing when I came back. But not for long” Jim buckles, head falling into his hands, “I’m sorry. I should have-ha-I told you you would be safe there.”  
It hadn’t even occurred to her to be mad at him.   
“I’m still alive,” she reminds him, “And so are you,” sometimes when you need reminders, “I don’t think the results would have been so different if you had been there. Except you might also be dead. Then who would catch him?”  
Jim nods, face grim with determination. 

“Were there any other survivors?”   
“Yeah, Lee. She hid. And Nygma actually. He got shot saving Kristen.”  
“Nygma…”  
She blinks.   
Ed had been there?  
“I thought you’d be happier.”  
She artfully resets her face.  
“Of course I’m happy. It’s good news.”  
Her smile slides off once he leaves the room. 

She doesn’t even have the head space to think about Ed right now.   
She files him away to toil over later and stares blankly at the blue, white stripes of her hospital gown. 

What had he meant when he said he was going to be a star?


	36. Chapter 36

“I’m sorry about dinner.”  
“Don’t worry about dinner!” Bruce hurries to her, face scrunched and pink, “just feel better.”  
He keeps from squeezing her at the sight of her shoulder. Hands stuttering at his sides.   
She giggles, and moves to hug him with one arm. 

It was a silly thing to say. But it was the first thing that came to mind. And she was sorry to miss it. Hospital food sucks. 

Bruce brought her flowers.   
Bright, yellow things to keep her company. They pepper the window sill, scattering warm light throughout the sterile room.  
She was only staying the night for observation in case something else was wrong with her. Other than the gaping hole in her shoulder. Although she supposed it wasn’t an open wound anymore, stitched together under layers of gauze. It would heal like all wounds, leave a little crater of a scar and she would be fine in all the ways that matter. 

If only Mario could surgically remove her bad taste in men.   
This horrible, monstrous thing inside her. So fucking vile that even at the threat of death she could want him a little.   
A little is too much. 

Bruce would have liked to stay the night if she hadn’t insisted otherwise. He might have anyway, just to be there regardless. But visiting hours were long over.   
And she had insisted. 

It was a good thing she did.   
Victor invites himself in later. 

She senses him before she sees him. Eyes closed, but sleep evades her.   
“Still can’t knock can you?”  
Victor stops at the end of her bed.   
“Did you know that was going to happen?”  
She supposed she should be thankful he didn’t barge in during the day and cause a scene.   
But of course he would come in the night.   
“Would I have gone if I did?”   
She sits up, glaring up at him.   
Surely, he didn’t think of her as suicidally stupid.  
“I don’t know. Answer me.”  
Maybe he wouldn’t.   
She didn’t know him like she used to. They were hardly communicating nowadays.  
At least not in productive ways.  
“I didn’t know.”   
She closes her eyes.  
How could she have known? Her hands twist at the sheets.   
“But you were scared,” Victor’s voice lowers, “And now you’re hurt.”  
It wasn’t too hard a mystery to solve.  
“And now you’re here,” she finishes.   
She’s not sure how she feels about that.   
Moonlight ripples over him as he walks over to her side, before darkness once again envelopes him.  
“What would you like me to do with this one?”  
He leans down, voice heavy with threat, and desire to rain down bloody hell.   
She imagines all his lines of thought end with Jerome suffering a slow, painful death.   
They have killed for less.   
And no one has ever left a mark so…permanent on her.   
It was not a forgivable thing.  
And Jerome has so so much to pay for.   
But she thinks about it. Really thinks about it.   
What does she want Victor to do about Jerome?  
“Nothing.”  
He stills.   
“Nothing?” he repeats, voice low and incredulous, “(Y/N)-”  
It’s somewhat alarming. He never usually calls her by her name.   
Had he ever?   
It was always ‘Princess’, wasn’t it?   
“Victor.”   
She say back, meeting his furious gaze. 

“You’re mine.” He insists.  
She falls silent.   
And for a moment he wonders if he hadn’t heard him. But she looks away, to the floor.   
“Not anymore.”  
Rage boils through him. How could she say that so casually and expect him to listen? Someone was going to die at his hands tonight and it was going to be that ginger fuck.   
He turns go.   
She grabs him.   
Fingers clasping tight around his arm and the act makes him freeze.   
“You are not going to do anything. Because if anyone is going to do anything it’s going to be me.”

Jerome killed her boss, shot up her work, blew up a fucking bus full of girls looking for her.   
This was not six guys kidnapping her and roughing her up a little because of her father.   
This was personal.   
More so.   
They were nothing now. Barely a memory.   
Jerome was a stain on her very being.   
She will watch him stuffed away in a cell he can’t escape, personally.   
Not have him die at Victor’s hands, even if it was done for her.   
It just wasn’t enough.   
She looks up at him.   
“You asked me what I’d like you to do. I would like you to do nothing.”

~~~~

“I can ask for anything?”  
Little Miss Falcone skips to keep up with him.   
“Anything.”   
He looks down as his mouth twitches up.   
Victor keeps his eyes firmly ahead. He’s won against death more times than he could count. A girl was nothing.   
As long as he didn’t look at her.   
She just had to be cute.   
She comes to a stop and turns to him. He makes the mistake of looking at her and she fixes him in place with those big doe eyes, suddenly serious.   
“Kiss me.” She demands.  
He lets out a one note breath of a laugh.   
Sure, he’d noticed she had a bit of a crush and hadn’t discouraged her. She was rather obvious, always staring. He couldn’t exactly tell her to stop looking at him. And he didn’t exactly want her to. She was far from the worst assignment he’s received.   
But he never would have guessed she would be so ballsy.  
“Princess,” he stutters, “do you know what you’re asking me?”   
Her shy smile turns coy.  
“Yes, of course,” she bites her lip, it flushes a deeper pink, “I’m a big girl you know?”

~~~~

“Do you know what you’re asking me?”  
To walk away from something like this. His very hands itched at the thought. It was all he could do not to kill him first when he’d heard. But he needed to see her. How could she-  
“Yes, of course.”  
She doesn’t falter in the slightest. 

So he doesn’t either when he leaves. 

Mario personally hands her back her belongings. Since he was apparently, playing big brother now. Well, as long as he didn’t tell she could stand to put up with him for a few more minutes. She tugs on the clean clothes Bruce had brought her. Fingers lazily buttoning up her blouse.  
The ones she was wearing had to be cut off. And would have been beyond saving with all the blood anyway.   
The morning light scatters through the flowers, casting warm light through the room.  
Last night seems completely separate from this reality.   
But she’s quite sure it was real. As real anything. Nothing about her life seems deeply rooted in reality.   
“You don’t still want this old thing.”  
Mario draws her out of her stupor. Her gaze falls to his hand, dangling Victor’s choker above the trash.   
She jumps to her feet, snatching it back.   
“I don’t think you can throw out my things as my brother or my surgeon,” she glares at him, fingers clasped tight around the strip of leather.

She just couldn’t let anything go could she?  
Victor or Jerome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys due to circumstances I can't control I have no earthly idea when the next update will be. I don't want to go into all of it because it's dumb and annoying. I'm fine like physically and all that, emotionally Im always a mess. Ugh. Part of it is because school is starting. And my computer is sort of broken and can't be fixed. Like you can't close it without it literally coming apart so there's no easy way if any to bring it with me. And I kinda need a vpn where I am to get onto AO3 which I dont have on my phone. At least I dont want to risk having on my phone. (Lol look at me going into it anyway.) And because of the virus I don't know how often I can come home. But basically the next update could be in two weeks, it could be in two months or horror of all horrors, four months when the semester's over. I do not know. I am so sorry. I really wanted to leave off on like the end of part one the way I planned. But I was really unproductive because the school wasn't giving us a lot of information and I dont do well with uncertainty or anything really that involves the slightest inconvience. Anyway I wanted to thank you guys so much for being so encouraging. This definitely isn't the end okay. I just want to make that clear right now because idk when the next update will be and I want you to be aware that Im not done with this. No matter what I will at the very least finish part one, just way later than I originally planned unfortunately. Seriously, thank you guys so much for your nice comments! I really live for the attention. And I hope everyone is doing ok and staying safe <3


	37. Chapter 37

“You hit on Lee?” She gasps in delight, “god I can't believe a missed that,” she side eyes Alfred, “I could see that though,” she pictures it in her minds eyes, “You guys would look good together. Although Lee would look good next to anyone,” she eyes Lee’s statuesque silhouette, “She is so gorgeous-”  
Seriously, (Y/N) sighs, all that and she's a doctor. Unreal.   
Hell, she should date Lee.   
“You're a terrible friend,” Alfred squints down at her.  
“What,” she scoffs, “To Jim? I don't what you're talking about, we're barely colleagues.”  
Alfred raises his eyebrows.  
“No seriously I'm only an intern that doesn't count.”  
She blinks up at him.  
Alfred raises his brows higher.  
She sighs.  
“He's alright, I guess.”   
Actually she knows Jim's alright. But whatever. She knows Alfred knows that she knows.   
She sips at her drink.   
“So...” she shifts on her heel, she shouldn’t have worn heels, “just how eager were you Mr. Pennyworth,” lips curling into a smirk, “I mean Lee doesn't seem like the type not to mention she's taken, good girl like her,” she circles him, ”Did you even let her get a word in?”  
Alfred's face sours.  
“I so regret bringing this to you.” He sighs miserably.  
“I know,” she smiles, making her drink swirl in her glass as she stares out at all the swarm of well dressed guests.   
It feels like forever since she's been to one of these. Something from a past life. But it's only been weeks since her grand birthday celebration. 

Days since the shootout.   
Her shoulder aches at the thought.   
Her eyes dull.

“You ain't seen nothing, yet.”   
Jerome had cackled in grainy black and white, swaying in delight. That streak of blood cutting across his face.  
They could only hide that garish display from her for so long. They tried of course, but holding the remote hostage could only keep her ignorant when every news outlet was playing that video.  
He was the talk of town.   
It did not bode well.   
When did anything about Jerome bode well for her?  
She rolls her eyes and downs her drink.

The gala was Bruce's way of getting her mind off things.   
And she had to admit she was shallow enough to be willingly, happily distracted picking out the dress for it. Turns out she could still enjoy spending his money on occasion.   
It was ridiculously pretty, not the sleek sort thing she usually went for. Not that she disliked this sort of thing before. But she supposed a part of her kept Victor's sleekness in mind when she picked those chic long gowns. This was one of those lolita type things. It had those ruffle edged lace up bodices and an outrageously full skirt. It would be cutesy with all the lace and ruffles if it wasn't a deep wine red.   
She looked like a princess-  
Shit.  
No, not a princess, actually she looked more like a…doll-  
Fuck.

She snatches another drink off a passing tray and eyes the back of Bruce's head.  
He'd intended to stay to her she's sure, but then they'd seen Selina.   
She watched with mild interest as Selina stole a watch off a man's hand. And Bruce was gone from her side.  
Turns out is not as good as avoiding people as she is sliding through windows.  
Well, hopefully, they would have better luck than her.  
She raises her glass to her lips once again, only to see it empty.   
Unbelievable. She hardly remembered tasting it.   
She sighs and moves to get another.

Jim catches her eye and walks up, looking sheepish.   
She groans, and prepares herself for some bad news. She can tell from his face it’s not going to be good. But he never has any good fucking news does he?

She takes a long drink. 

“Mr. Cicero was his father? I didn’t know that!”   
She never would have guessed although now that she thinks about it Cicero was slightly less abhorrent to Jerome than everyone else.   
Still, he never stepped in either.  
But neither did she. And she probably could have made a bigger difference, even at thirteen.  
Would it have been much better if she had gotten involved? Gotten her father involved?   
She imagines Jerome in a black suit on one side, Victor on the other.   
Even if she rewrites the past he winds up a killer. There’s just no way around that.  
But the causalities might have been less significant. 

Jim sighs, bringing her back, lips squishing together in his signature look of mild constipation.   
“Jerome killed him last night.”  
This is less of a surprise. It was almost the obvious conclusion.  
“Of course he did,” she sighs, resigned, “why wouldn't he go two for two? He's obviously past the point of self restraint. And he hated his family-”  
She stops.   
“What is it?” Jim asks.   
Miah.  
Fuck, she mouths.   
He hates Miah, too.   
“Jim-” she turns to him, his phone rings cutting her off.  
“Sorry, it's the precinct,” Jim frowns, “They need me back. What were you saying?”  
He looks to her.  
“You know what, I'm sure it can wait,” it’s been years, Miah could be anywhere, they could deal with it later, “Go.” She tells him.   
“Alright,” Jim nods, “Enjoy your night,” he makes an attempt at a smile, eyes flicking to her glass, near empty again, “don't drink too much.”  
How rude of him to call her out, she downs her drink glaring at him.   
He sighs and goes to say goodbye to Lee.

Lee looks disappointed, but understanding. They kiss. And Jim goes on his way.   
Lee catches her looking and glides over, looking down with almost motherly concern, not that she would know.   
“(Y/N),” Lee's smile parts, “how are you doing?”  
“Good. I'm good,” she gives a convincing performance, “Nice party, quite the achievement.”  
Lee blushes.  
“I'm just doing my job.”  
“Well, you do a good job.”

A costumed pair walk on the stage.  
A magic show?   
She raises a brow. This really is for the children then.   
She looks across the floor at all the full grown adults.  
Were there any minors other than Bruce and and Selina? You would think they'd let some of the poor miserable kids they're raising money for have some fun.   
She couldn't even see Bruce or Selina. She frowns at the crowd. Well, they were together. They must have run off somewhere. Alfred didn't look concerned.   
She finishes another drink.  
The magician starts to go into his bit.   
Lee gets called to the stage for all her stellar charity work. She is such a saint.   
(Y/N) eyes the magician’s assistant. She's quite a looker especially at in that sequined feathered costume. But he's rather charismatic all on his own. And it's not just the beard.   
She squints up at the man.   
“Rodolfo,” she mutters to herself, “what a dumb fucking name.”   
But he has a quality to him that holds her attention well enough, and his voice.   
His voice is-

She sighs. 

She has to pee.   
She's been drinking all night.   
She slams the glass down.  
“I'll be right back,” she claps Alfred on the shoulder, “five minutes.”  
She turns on her heel and walks off.

A lot can go wrong in five minutes.

-

“You are avoiding me,” Bruce catches up to Selina.  
He wasn’t planning on being so confrontation but she was seriously looking everywhere but him.   
“I can't exactly be seen with you when I'm trying to be inconspicuous.”  
She hisses at him, finally looking at him.   
He frowns, considering. She was stealing left and right. That made sense.   
She takes the opportunity to run off through curtains.  
Unbelievable.   
He follows.   
She swears.  
“What are you acting so weird?” He clutches at air.   
He thought they were finally...friends at the very least.  
She ignores him.  
He snatches the watch out of her hand.   
That makes her look at him, turn to him, scratch at him.   
He holds it out of reach.  
“I am not!” she huffs in denial, working her jaw, “I'm just busy. How would you know I'm acting any different anyway?” she scowls at him, “You don't know me, Bruce.”

\--

Alfred sighs.   
Alone again.   
Bruce had run off after the girl. (Y/N) had abandoned him. Even Jim had gone, it seemed. He looks over at Lee, and watches as she gets called to the stage.   
They were doing a whole acknowledgement routine, thanking the lovely Lee, and the mayor for their contributions.   
It's too bad Bruce and (Y/N) had both run off, it looked like things were just about to get interesting.  
“Oh,” the magician drags out the word between his smiling teeth, “no one is leaving alive.”  
A knife slices through the air into the mayor's chest.  
The audience's laughs turn to screams.

\---

Jerome knows an opportunity when he sees one. And this here could be his greatest yet. Billionaire boy Wayne was here tonight.   
How many people get to kill a billionaire? Let alone on live TV.   
He winks at the camera as he tears off that horrid patch off fur on his face.   
God, what a reveal! His audience gasps beneath him. Talk about quality entertainment.   
He grins at the camera.  
He wishes he'd had something like this growing up.   
But, there's nothing like him and there's no point looking back. After tonight his name will be the one on everyone's minds.  
And she'll see how wrong she was to say those things.  
~You're not in his league~  
His grin twitches, as if Victor Zsasz has ever done anything like this. The man wasn't completely lacking in style he supposed, but he was all guns and knives, no showmanship. No flair. She was sure to change her mind after she sees his show tonight.   
And he would forgive her of course…after she shows him just how sorry she is, of course.   
Now if the kid would just come out.  
He was losing his patience.

“Oh Brucie!” 

\----

Selina's hand clamps over his arm.   
“Are you fucking crazy? A madman planning to kill everyone calls you out specifically and you just go?”  
Bruce has the audacity to look conflicted.   
Just her luck to like a guy without the slightest sense of self preservation!  
“(Y/N)'s still in there,” he tells her in a panicked whisper.   
She swallows, and pushes him aside to the peek through the curtain.   
“No, she's not. See,” she drags him back to look, “Alfred's standing alone.”  
“Alfred-”  
“Alfred can take care of himself Bruce,” she cuts him off before he can say some more stupid crap, “It's his job to take care of you. You not being in that room is one less thing he has to worry about. The best thing you can do for both of them is come with me right now. (Y/N) could already be outside, maybe she left with Gordon. I don't see him either.”  
Bruce's frown is still etched deep in his skin, but he seems almost convinced.  
She pulls at his sleeve. 

“Come out come out, wherever you are.”   
Jerome calls out once more, his playful tone and playful grin slide off his face as he loses his patience.   
His voice sounds different when he speaks again.   
“Shoot the butler.”

“Wait!”  
Bruce steps out from the curtains.

Fuck!   
She clutches at her hair.   
He’s dead.   
He’s dead.  
He’s fucking dead. 

“There you are,” Jerome purrs, “knew that would do the trick. Come on up.”  
He waves Bruce closer.

She takes a step back as Bruce takes a step forward. 

“Search those curtains,” Jerome adds, “we're not playing hide and seek.”

Selina rushes for the hidden exit as his goons make their way.  
She bursts out into the street.  
Gordon, she needs to find Gordon.

\-----

(Y/N) stares down at her hands gripping the marble counter.   
The choker laid out in front of her.  
She’d kept it in her hands, in her tiny purse. Holding onto it like it could protect her.   
But Victor could protect her if she wanted him to.   
“Are you watching?”   
She wonders aloud.   
Didn't he say he was always watching? Always listening.   
She was running his patience thin though.   
Is she still his princess if she wears it?  
She slides the strip of leather around her throat.   
“I miss you,” she whispers and evaluates her reflection.   
Black looks good with everything.   
She does a little spin in the dress.   
She really did look fucking good.   
There was no point wasting the night in here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I doubt I can update regularly right now with the many things I have going on with school. But I will try for not too long from now. Which is totally vague. I'm sorry.   
> But I hope the long update makes up for the long wait. The next one will be a long one, too.   
> Thoughts? Predictions? I'm curious, because I don't think you'll be able to guess how the next one ends, but I always enjoy reading what you guys think.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really procasinated so hard I finished this a week early instead of studying lol.   
> Anyways, this is the longest and most violent chapter so far. There is death and there is some explicit sexual stuff during Jerome's pov. The pov goes back and forth. I hope it's not hard to read. I thought about waiting to post this when I said I would but I couldn't wait. The idea for what happens in this chapter was a huge driving factor for me writing this whole thing in the first place so I really hope you all like it. <3 Please let me know in the comments all your thoughts. I love hearing what you guys think <3

(A little Jerome pov flashback)  
“Look, loved the escape, love the idea, and I'm all about chaos,” he smiles widely at the delightfully murderous man in the suit, “but,” he pauses, eyes flicking to the floor, he supposed he had to be somewhat careful what with now dead Sionis, “I don't work for free.”  
Galavan raises open palms.   
“Whatever would you like?”  
It couldn't be too hard surely, Jerome licks his lips, if the man could break them out of Arkham.  
“My girl.”

“Jerome...” Galavan starts slow, he liked Jerome but the boy could be a real volatile bastard, “even I can't find a girl with no last name and no picture.”  
Jerome grinds his teeth.   
And his knife into the table.  
“Let's not ruin mahogany and think about this rationally. So you got in a fight.”   
Galavan clasps his hands.   
Who knew it could be so easy?  
People are never as complicated as they think they are.   
“What girl doesn't love a star?” he leans against the table, smirk twitching at his lips, “And you Jerome, you could be a star,” his teeth glint silver, “I could make you a star.”  
Galavan leans in, into his sell.   
He could tell it was working Jerome was slowing in his abuse of the table.   
“You think she'd like that?”  
Jerome wonders, eyes distant and bright.

~You're not in his league~  
She'd been so mean.   
He would show her.  
Zsasz had nothing on him.   
He could be better.   
He could be the best. 

“Oh,” Galavan purrs, voice slick as oil, “she'll come running.”

-present-

“J!”  
Her scream echos through the room.   
His smile stretches wider.   
Now that's the second time in three days she's screamed his name.   
That Galavan really knew what he was talking about.   
He would be sorry to knock him out, but he wasn't about to hand over the spotlight so easy.  
Not when he had things to prove, and a girl to impress.   
His girl.  
And there she was, looking so damn gorgeous. Those sparkling eyes wide and full of fear.   
He breathes it in.  
Breathes her in like air.  
There's just nothing like her.  
His hold on Bruce tightens as his fingers twitch.  
“Dollface,” he exhales, sick with excitement.   
The knife sinks with his breath. 

Bruce holds his as the blade breaks through skin.

“Stop please!”  
She begs, thoughtlessly, panic taking over at the sight of blood.   
Stupid.  
Stupid!  
He couldn't possibly be inclined to listen.   
Begging might just give him ideas.   
She had to be calm.  
It's not so bad yet that Bruce would die. So long as Jerome doesn't slice any further.   
She has to be calm.  
It was hard to manage with Bruce in his hands.   
Just how many people has he met and let live?  
Alarms wail in her head, flashing red.   
He can't have Bruce.   
She can't be calm.   
But she has to pretend not to care so much as she does. If Jerome knew she cared for Bruce on a personal level there was no telling how he might react.   
What he would do.   
And Jerome had picked him too, out of the crowd.   
Out of everyone.  
Not good.   
She swallows.   
She was going to have to be a lot more interesting to get him to give up Bruce.   
But she could still do that, couldn't she?  
This was Jerome. 

Bruce looks fearfully down at her.   
The knife glints silver beneath a line of red.   
She had to.   
Fear crawls under her skin, burrows in, twists and squirms.   
She swallows it down. It pounds at the back of her throat.   
Why couldn't she have just run before he'd seen her? Just turned around?   
She could have left this time. Could have let the adults handle this. The real adults, the suits, the detectives, the Jim Gordons.   
She'd had enough of J. 

But it was Bruce. 

She smooths out her expression.  
If it's just pretend, if it's just a game, then she can win. 

She saunters closer, towards him. Towards that bright lit stage.   
His eyes follow her every step, the point of her shoes, the sway of her skirt.  
This was still Jerome.   
Even if it wasn't one she liked. 

She could win.

“What are you doing playing with a little boy J,” she lets a smile take over her lips, “when you could be playing with me,” she holds up her skirt and she spins on her heel, he always could appreciate a good twirl, “Don't you love it?” she teases, “Your Doll, all...dolled up.”  
Jerome's eyes light up, still fixed on her.   
Good.   
She walks to the edge of the stage and bats her lashes up at him, sways.   
“Don't you wanna play with me Mr.J?”  
She pouts.   
He looks eagerly down at her.   
Hungry.   
She doesn't let it faze her.   
She takes a step onto the stage. Light cuts across her heel. She's on the edge.   
He doesn't discourage her.   
So she takes another. 

The spotlight envelopes her and the rest of the world vanishes.   
It's just him and her, and Bruce between them. 

Jerome is still taller than her.  
She steps closer.   
His fingers twitch a little away from Bruce's neck as though the urge to reach for her was automatic, but he wasn't fully convinced just yet.   
She takes another step.  
Closer still.  
Until Bruce is the only thing in the way of him touching her.  
There's his incentive.   
Let it be enough. 

She looks coyly up at him through her lashes and slides her fingers beneath the knife and Bruce, keeping her eyes firmly on Jerome's.   
His eyes are compelling all on their own, but still she has to remind herself not to look away, not to glance at Bruce as she feels his neck flutter under her skin.   
His panic quickened pulse.   
She wishes she could say something comforting.  
But that could ruin everything. 

Jerome's lashes are bright copper in the light.   
He is as handsome as ever.   
She could almost mean it as she leans, and arches, and flaunts her ruffled, pushed up tits.  
“Don't you want to touch me?”

It happens so quickly she could swear it was one motion but it had to have been at least two for him to push Bruce aside and take her into his arms.  
She hears a thud, a grunt, gasps throughout.   
But no screams.

Jerome's mouth is on hers before she can wonder too long.   
She doesn't dare to check to see if Alfred caught Bruce.  
It would be so Jerome to kiss her with his eyes open. The last thing she needs is for him to catch her and take offense.   
It would be very bad to make him angry.   
This wasn't the same game as before.   
This game had no rules.   
She was not safe.   
So she does her best to kiss him like she means it.  
Maybe she's just that good an actress. But it really should be harder too pretend. 

His hands slide through her curled hair to frame her face and clutch her closer to him.  
He is as always, demanding.   
What did breathing matter to Jerome when he could have her.   
His hands slide lower, down her cheek, to her neck-

“What's this?”  
His hands catch her breath in her throat.  
Barely a squeeze, but she knows what he sees and that fear climbs back up like a scream-  
But she's silent, frozen still and waiting, staring up at him as he stares down at her.   
Her offending throat.   
His hands clench. 

\--

She makes a delightful sound as she chokes. 

He can't even enjoy it.   
All this and she was wearing Zsasz's fucking name around her neck.  
Again.   
He grinds his teeth and tightens his grip until his hands may as well be the only thing between her head and and her body.  
Better his hands than that fucking thing.   
He should cut it off and really choke her with it. Stuff it down her throat. Stuff it down her throat with his cock and have her choke on that, too.

She shakes.   
Shakes like a leaf.  
She dances, too.   
Her slender, shapely legs strained straight as she swings-  
No scratches at the floor.   
The pointed tips of her heels scraping the wood.  
Her eyes wide, wide, wide.   
He watches as tears gather at their edges.  
“Please!” she whispers.   
He can hardly hear her.   
But her lips move. And he knows those lips. The shapes they make.  
“You're hurting me.”  
She pleads.  
She begs. 

He throws her to the floor of the stage and huffs. Flips back his stray hairs.   
“I'm hurting you?”   
He snarls and warches without sympathy as she struggles to sit upright, arms shaking.   
Her pretty face pinched.  
He supposed he had a little.   
He sighs and tugs at his tailored jacket and grinds his teeth.   
He had intended to be nice but she-  
She started it.   
Anyone else would already be dead, that was plenty nice enough. 

“You hurt me first Dollface,” he crouches down, and takes in the fear in her eyes, “You didn't think I'd forget did you?”  
He grabs her by the shoulder, her poor wounded shoulder. She had earned that bullet. His certainly still hurt, and digs in his thumb.

He drags her up screaming.  
She screams beautifully.   
It makes his cock hard.   
But she always does.  
Her blood warms his thumb as she wails. Lips stretched in her scream.   
He licks his lips.   
Poor Doll.   
He was hurting her.  
That was wrong. But he's done worse things than hurt pretty girls. And this one, this one was his pretty girl.   
And she just looks so damn delicious hurting.  
Tears shine like jewels as they rain down her cheeks.  
“Please J,” her voice quivers, her lip trembles, his cock twitches, “How-” she sniffles, “how can I make it up to you?”

\--

She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth.   
Even if she didn't know him so well that look in his eye gave it away.   
It was the last thing she should have said, but she was so desperate to make the pain go away. She couldn't think straight.  
He never used to enjoy hurting her.   
But he has always had a sadistic streak.  
He has always been vengeful. 

She has always been fucking stupid.

It hurts to breathe as she waits for him spell out the obvious.   
Would he even bother saying the words?  
Was he above that?   
Had he ever been?  
She still remembered those stolen kisses. She hadn't stopped him then.   
But the game had been fun then.   
This was a whole nother level.   
They even had an audience.   
She blinks at the darkness beyond the stage. It was hard to remember they weren't alone when she could hardly see past him and everyone was so quiet.   
She supposed she would be quiet, too.

They were putting on such a good show.

He leans in close.   
All she can see is the curved lines of his red mouth.

\--

“You know I want your cunt.”  
He bites down on the word as he would bite into her. There was no doubt she would be delicous.   
He has tasted her.   
“Say it.”  
He wants to hear the words from her mouth.   
He knows she knows it.   
She's been avoiding him for a reason.   
She still was, trying to, keeping her eyes on the floor.   
He'll let it slide just this once. Since she's having such a hard time.   
“I know.” She whispers, not looking at him.  
“What's that?” he frowns, arching a brow, “Louder Dollface, for the people in the back.”  
“I know you want to fuck me.”  
She shivers, as the words leave her. Like it's some terrible confession he's forcing out of her.   
It was rather cruel to do this so publicly.   
But he's learning a lot lately about himself. He just thrives in attention. And she's just as pretty pained, if not more.

How long had she known?   
Has she always?   
Did she tease him with purpose?  
Filthy little Doll.  
He grins down at her.   
“Of course you do.”  
He coos, caressing her cheek. 

She still won't look at him. He was getting sick of that, now. But the rosy flush in her cheeks was nice.   
He rubs his thumb over that soft pink blush and gives her hair a hard yank.  
Her eyes snap up to meet his, wide again and glistening.   
Much better.  
He fingers her satin soft curls.   
Lovely even.  
He pulls harder on her hair and her chin rises with the action. It is such a shame he's never had the chance to fully explore his Doll's functions. But better late then never, he supposed. He pulls until her neck is perfect curve, and completely, deliciously exposed.   
If not for that stupid goddamn-

He stares at the bruises.   
Dark red purpling things on her flesh.   
He could match his hands to them  
Perfectly. 

It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy. 

A gulp rolls down her neck as he retraces the marks he made.   
His gaze sinks to her chest.  
She's flushed pink there, too and so precariously stuffed in that tight little bodice her tits could burst. As though if he squeezed her hard they would just pop out.   
He is tempted to try.   
He pulls her closer to him, grabbing her by the waist, and presses her right up against him. It makes a mess of her bouncy ruffled skirt.  
She looks so damn good. 

She feels so damn good. 

Some things never live up to expectations.   
But not his doll. 

He moves his hand further down, curious about the rest of her. 

“Jerome!” Gordon's voice comes in just as he's finding her thigh, “What do you want?” Gordon sounds surprisingly desperate, “Let's talk.”  
And here he'd almost forgotten the guy.   
“Funny, you should say that Gordo.”   
He spins his Doll around so they're both facing the spotlight.  
It would be a shame not to show her off, night like this, all dressed up the both of them. They looked like a real good pair, too. Both in fancy dress and dark reds.  
That had to be a sign.  
He did say red was her color.   
“I'm good.”   
He grins, hands sliding over her delicious figure, lingering at his favorite parts.  
She takes a deep shuddering breath that only accentuates her curves, pushes her tits deeper into his palm.   
God, he shudders.   
It would be nothing to lift up her skirt and bend her over. To finally fuck her, in front of an audience, in front of Gotham city, live on TV.   
They could revisit it all the time.   
Their first time.   
He plays with a bow on her dress.   
It would be so very generous of him too to give em the show of their lives before he kills them. 

But it's only fun if she wants it just as bad.   
It's good when she wants it. When they're both desperate. Like last time, but this time they could really-

\--

“Say your mine,” he breathes hot against her ear, “Say you wanna be my pretty little fuckdoll, Dollface,” he grinds into her ass, hands digging into her hips, “Say it.”   
His words are between threat and plea.   
And it hurt, the way he touches her.  
But still it was almost tempting.   
The feel of him.  
Tempting to let this fever take her over, under the white lights that made everything past him cease to exist. And reminded her just how much her body could want him.   
It was compelling.   
This world of just two.   
He horrified her, but it would almost be easier to just let him have his way.   
She wouldn't have to be afraid if she wasn't against him. How bad could it be to let him take her over, let her eyes roll back, let herself be impaled on his cock. Give in to the fantasy. 

The insanity. 

It might even feel good.

But it wouldn't last. 

She wouldn't mean it anyway. 

~I'm yours~  
It had come so easily when it was Victor.   
He didn't even have to ask.   
Not really.  
How many times had she told him?   
She'd meant it, too.   
And that had been-  
Real.

And then-

“And then what?”  
She whispers. 

He blinks owlishly down at her, so surprised his grip on her loosens.

“And then you're mine.”  
It was simple. It would be official.   
And then they could be stars together. Do as they pleased.   
“Yours?”   
He frowns.   
She wasn't supposed to say it like that. 

“I haven't been yours for ages,” she mutters, “I don't even like you anymore. You've been terrible,” Her eyes flash when she looks at him, “You've been terrible to me.”  
After everything he's done to her?  
All the ways he's hurt her?  
And just tonight!  
And now he wants to fuck her. But not only that but he wants her to beg him-

As if she could ever-

Her fear turns to rage and this time it claws up her throat in a shout.   
“JUST LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME!”   
She takes a deep shuddering breath.  
“I could never be yours.”

He didn't deserve those words. 

And she wasn't anybody's.

“But you came to me.” He doesn't understand. “You said you would always like me. And you came-”

“And you said you would always be nice to me.”  
That certainly wasn't true anymore.

-  
“What even is this?”  
The magician's assistant cuts in.   
It's Barbara she realizes.   
Of course it was. He killed everyone else he'd worked with hadn't he.  
“Stay out of this Barb,” Jerome scowls, dismissive but not quite as disdainful as he had been with the other goons.   
She supposed Barbara was a little more than that. Even if being the crazed woman scorned hardly seemed much better.  
“We have a job to do here,” Barbara glares back, “One that doesn't have jack shit to do with your cutesy little blow up doll.”  
Blow up doll?  
Wait-job?  
“Oh, save it Barb, all you give a damn about is fucking with Gordon.”  
Jerome waves his hand to her end of the stage.   
And she sees   
Lee.  
Tied to a wheel by her arms and legs and neck.   
And gagged. 

How did she not notice?

She'd been too consumed by Bruce she'd forgotten all about Lee. And then so consumed by Jerome she'd forgotten everybody.   
But remembering them brought back the feeling of their presence in the room.  
Blood rushes up her neck.   
This whole experience was making her feel terribly.   
The lights, the stage, the eyes of the audience she can't see.   
Everything about Jerome.

It all morphed into an itch just beneath her skin she couldn't dream of scratching unless she clawed through flesh.   
And now this.  
With Lee!

It was all too much. 

She shakes her head.  
It didn't make sense!   
“If you have a problem with Gordon why don't you just torture him?” she quints at Barbara, “The guy's dumb enough to follow you blind, how hard can it be?”  
When people hurt her to get to her father it was a matter of fear and the simple fact that it was easier to grab her and hurt her than the goddamn Don. Barbara could go straight to the source, easy. And it wasn't like she was sane enough to be afraid of consequences.   
Why bother with Lee at all?   
Barbara smiles.  
Her blue eyes gleam, but there's a dullness in them, nothing past the surface. No depth anymore.   
No soul.   
Like plastic.   
“I am torturing him,” Barbara tells her, teeth glittering with her outfit, “What do you think hurts him more? He gets beaten bloody every other day. Anybody can do that,” she places a hand on her hip, “I'm not anybody. I want to give him wounds,” her shiny, pink lips purse around the word as she considers, “wounds that will always hurt.”

There is something deeply upsetting about that.   
She knows it, even without looking at Lee's face overrun with black tears dripping anew.   
But she doesn't feel it. Not exactly. She's having such a mess of feelings that they've all twisted together and this one just slides through her. 

She doesn't even really think about it.   
Not at all.   
She just-  
Sees.

They're all set out so nicely in front of her, on a tray. Like candies or something.   
Shining silver under the lights.

And they fit as easily as knives always have in her hands. 

She doesn't even think about it.   
Doesn't even blink.   
It's just on the tray.  
Then in her hand.  
Then in the air.   
And in Barbara's thigh. 

It's possible she has some unresolved rage.

\---------------

“There you are!” Selina bursts into the van, “I have been looking for you everywhere! These morons wouldn't let me in-”  
“You can't be in here-”  
An officer grabs at her. She twists out of reach.  
“Selina-”  
She cuts him off.   
“I know a way in.”  
Barbara's scream slices through the air. 

They both turn to stare at the screen as (Y/N) beats Barbara to the floor with a metal tray. 

“..Let's go.”

\---------

“Doll...” Jerome's hands hover by her shoulders, “You're gonna kill her.”

She stops and stares. 

Down at Barbara.   
Sprawled out, with twisted limbs, neck bent, cheek smashed in. Violent purple red around white bone.

It was hard to say she was still alive. 

She drops the tray. 

It clatters to her feet, too far bent to be useful.  
Still, it shines, like every other damn thing on stage. 

Her reflection blinks back distorted. 

“I didn't say you had to stop,” she can hear him smiling, not too bothered, not at all, not like her, “Barbara could have been useful,” he muses, “But I doubt she would be very interested in being friends now. You might as well finish.”

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” she whispers, “She just made me so angry. I didn't mean it.”  
Barbara looks like she would disagree. If she could.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Doll.”   
He spins her round to face him.   
It makes her dizzy.   
But he is always making her dizzy, and making her spin.

Making her crazy. 

“You're just like me.”  
He tells her gleefully.

“What do you mean?”  
That couldn't be right. 

“You've got the devil in you. You've got madness in you.”  
He cradles her face in his hands and presses his forehead to hers.   
He's never looked more in love with her.  
And he's looked at her plenty.   
“We're meant to be Dollface. Just think of the things we could do together. Just think. We could be stars! Together, we could eclipse the sun.”  
Mass murder has never sounded so romantic. 

“I know I've been bad,” he kisses her hands, “I've been mean. I'll make it up to you.”   
He tells her in such a way it feels just like before, when he teased too much and begged forgiveness with kisses and treats.   
She basks in the glow of his attention.  
Gentle.  
Soft.  
His hands didn't hurt at all. 

“We can kill Bruce Wayne together.”

And it all comes crashing down. 

Tears well in her eyes.   
What was she thinking?   
It was never going to be like before.   
And before wasn't some perfect place either. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“Oh don't cry Dollface.”  
He tells her, his face split by a wide grin. 

Monster. 

Apparently, she needed reminders.   
She could not forget his nature just because he was nice once upon a time.   
Everyone has been nice once.

He likes her crying as much as he likes her laughing or blushing or anything.   
She's a toy to him with functions!  
Special buttons. Choke her and she'll dance. Touch and she'll blush.   
It's all good fun for him.

She couldn't forget that.   
Her wounds haven't even healed yet and he made fresh ones.

“I was going to kill him myself. It would be spectacular. I mean I have such a record already and then a billionaire! Just think what a statement that would make. What a shock! What a show! What a thrill! Of course I would enjoy the act, too. But I think we should do it together. Mark the start of a new beginning.”  
Jerome misunderstands her silence.   
Did he ever understand her? It feels impossible now. 

But you don't need to understand your dolls to have fun with them do you?   
Just yank them around, make them spin.

It was wrong of her to think she could just stop him.  
To think she could be enough.   
He wasn't that simple. Not anymore.   
He had ambitions now far beyond her.   
And it was never her job to keep him in check. 

Jerome turns towards the room, towards his captive audience to summon Bruce up again.   
To really kill him this time.   
And make it a spectacle.   
Because all this wasn't spectacle enough. 

He wants to be a star.   
But she already can't see a damn thing past him. 

Just where was Gordon?  
He was just here.   
And then-

She shakes her head.   
It didn't matter.   
Sometimes you're just fucked.   
Alfred couldn't keep them all away, though she's sure he would try.   
He'd do anything for Bruce. 

She'd do anything for Bruce. 

But this is for her too.   
Her aching throat, her throbbing shoulder.   
Her sanity.   
Her peace.   
Essen.   
Lee.

She grabs him by the shoulder. 

She spins him around. 

She drives the knife into his gut, once, twice, three times. 

He deserves three at the very least. 

He sinks to his knees. 

He looks at her, up at her, blue eyes wide and mouth slack.   
And then he starts to laugh. 

And it scares her that he can laugh even with three gaping wounds bleeding out.   
Even with her above him.   
Even with the knife in her hand. 

Just what was so funny about that?

“You just can't go for the kill, can you Doll?”

He laughs and laughs and laughs, holding his side, as blood rushes through the seems of his fingers. 

“You know, with us it's never over.”

And she suddenly understood why it was he was so smug. 

He always finds her. 

There was no cell in Arkham that could hold him.   
There was no place Gordon could place him he couldn't worm his way out of.   
No hole in the ground deep enough.

Unless he couldn't crawl out.

Unless he was dead. 

She feels an urgency she's never felt before. 

All she can see is Jerome.   
The threat of him, making her heart pound and her stomach coil. 

It's easy to forget sometimes how much a person can hurt you when you like them so very much, or loved them, or used to.  
She was in no danger of forgetting right now.   
Not while her throat still throbbed and her shoulder still ached and her ribs seemed to squeeze at her lungs because he made the very air hurt to breathe and it seemed as though every voice was screaming at her to kill him, kill him,  
JUST KILL HIM AND END IT. 

It's only her voice in her head that's screaming.

And she watches in a detached sort of way as the blade in her hand, already red slides smoothly into his neck.

There really ought to be more resistance.   
People are always more fragile than she expects them to be. 

Blood pours out of his neck like paint and falls thick over her hands. 

He's still grinning, mid-laugh and watching her.   
“That's not very nice, Doll.”   
She hears him say, barely above a rasp.   
How is it that he can talk at all?   
His lips don't even move.  
She backs away.   
“I'll have to get you back.”   
His grin seems widen further, curling at the edges.   
She shakes her head.   
It's impossible.   
Unreal.   
All of it really.

It was all much too, much too, much.

His blood on her hands, the pain burrowing into her marrow, the blinding spotlight bearing down.   
The people screaming her name.   
But everyone had gone-  
But no, they had never been alone-

The world was rushing back in on her and suddenly there were so many sounds exploding-

Names being called out-

Rushing, pounding steps-

The stage blurs as she runs without direction.   
But she must have found a way out somehow because behind her a door closes and before her was an endless dark street. 

The night air is sweet relief. 

She could sink to her knees. 

She wants to.   
She wants to.   
But she's not ready to be found. 

His blood sticks to her hands like red gloves.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be smut.   
> And we're starting with a flashback...

“AND STAY OUT YOU UNGRATEFUL WORTHLESS LITTLE BRAT.”  
She could hear Lila's wretched words this far away. The distance seemed to stretch into miles and her feet slow, and stop as she watches, appalled as Lila tosses Jerome out onto the dirt. The door of the van slamming shut with a resounding bang. She watches, feet frozen still as Jerome takes a painfully long moment before even attempting to move. He stands, hands palming the sides of the van. A bottle flies out the window and barely misses. Jerome stumbles away, clutching at his sides.   
Her heart rattles in her ribs and aches.  
She takes a shaky breath and runs to him.   
She reaches him on their hill. 

He's settling down in the grass, leaning against the side of their tree. He doesn't notice her until she's in front of him.  
“J!”   
Tears roll down her cheeks, and she burns with shame.   
Here she'd come running to him for comfort when he was in hell. How could she be so selfish? But how could she leave him like this?  
“Doll,” he says nothing else and just looks up at her amazed.   
But he always was so happy to see her.  
“You're crying.”  
Jerome looks in awe at the fact.   
“You're hurt!”  
She says it furiously. And she wants to hurt Lila back for this she really, really does. But she wants to take care of Jerome more. She crouches down, and kneels in the grass by his side. She reaches out. She wants to touch him, but she takes in his bruised lip, his bruised cheek.   
She would hate to hurt him more.   
She lets her hands fall to her lap, and stares at her useless appendages.  
Her argument with Mario seemed like nothing now. He never hurt her like this, much as he liked to hurt her.   
“No one's ever cried for me before.” Jerome murmurs, and wipes away a tear from her cheek.  
She blinks at him through wet lashes. He looks at his thumb as though it had been blessed.   
Her lips quivers.  
“That can't be true,” it just couldn't be, her heart would shatter, “What about Miah?”  
Somebody must love Jerome.   
Somebody other than her.   
It would just be too sad. They were still brothers.   
Jerome looks away at the mention of him. There's an anger in him, a mix of jealousy and hurt barely contained by his skin, his teeth when he clenches his jaw.   
“...It's not the same.”

They're lying in the grass. The back of her hand against the back of his, close enough to feel every breath the other takes.  
There's a strange peace in this moment even though she knew she couldn't be here and she was going to be in so much trouble. Even though he was still in hell. Being with Jerome is like being in a pocket dimension. Reality just seems unreal. Nothing past him makes sense. Because he doesn't make sense. They don't make sense. How did something so ludicrous and meeting him and loving him even happen? Eight years old and now eight years later they were still under this tree on this hill in this place close enough to home to feel the pressure, far enough to feel free.   
She wonders if anyone's ever cried for her.   
“I cry for you.” He whispers.   
She flushes, beyond embarrassed.   
How could she be so selfish to wonder that aloud when he was suffering so much. She's terrible, terrible, terrible-  
But-  
She blinks and turns to look at him.   
“What for?”  
Why would he cry for her?  
“You're the best thing I've got.”  
He doesn't look at her, but she knows he means it entirely.  
“You're mine, too.”  
She whispers back.  
She doesn't know what she would do without him. Where she would run to. Things could be unbearable in her father's home with Mario and the terrible way she felt for Victor Zsasz. But Jerome never changed. Jerome always liked her.

He kisses her.   
It's sudden.  
But Jerome always is on the brink of kissing her.   
Isn't he? 

Not like Victor. She had to beg Victor Zsasz just to look at her. And when he did his eyes burned her. 

Jerome is warm.  
And it feels good to touch.   
She's always adored how Jerome made her feel so special, as if all the world were wrong but her very presence was right enough to make it okay.  
She wants to touch him more. 

He laughs at her struggle to take off his shirt.   
“Buttons are hard, okay,” she huffs.   
“Whatever you say, Doll,” he sits up to help her, then slows halfway, “Not sure I look real pretty right now.”  
She frowns at the edge of a dark bruise peeking through.  
“I'll kiss it better,” she assures him.   
She had to know where to be extra gentle anyway. She undoes the rest. His shirt falls away revealing the pale of his chest and the mess of dark bruises.  
“Poor thing,” she murmurs kissing a line from the dip in his collarbone down his ribs.   
Jerome takes a deep breath as she kisses lower and lower-  
“Doll.”  
“J,” she tilts her head and rests it against his hip bone, just above his growing bulge, which pulses hot against her neck.   
“Doll,” he lets out a shaky breath, “What are you doing?”  
She undoes his jeans. She's crouched low between his legs, her ass in the air. She keeps her big eyes on his intense gaze as she pulls out his swollen cock.  
“I'm making you feel better.”  
She tells him.   
She was making herself feel better, too.  
Being with Jerome made her feel immensely powerful. She never felt this kind of control at home. This kind of thrill.   
She gives him a kiss like she said. She was going to kiss it all better.   
He's warm velvet against her lips.

Jerome groans, loud and desperate and grabs her by the hair, roughly, dragging her up to kiss her with the taste of him still on her lips.  
“You would be of incredible value to the medical profession,” he says between pants.   
She laughs.   
He would kill all her patients if she ever dared.   
But she plays along. It's fun to play along with Jerome.  
“Would I be better than Mario?”  
Stupid, evil, perfect, golden fucking Mario-  
“You are better than Mario,” he says it with conviction.  
She kisses him again.

It's wrong.   
She knows it's wrong. She shouldn't-  
But it's really hard to remember all the reasons not to do something when you really want to, when your whole body is begging god please-  
“Please touch me,” she whines, she gasps as she grinds on his rock hard-  
Jerome makes one tortured noise after another, one hand tangled in her hair as he breathes hot on her neck. His other hand searching for her soft flesh beneath her shirt.   
“J please,” she begs, rolling her hips.   
“We can't. I don't have any-”  
She cuts him off with another kiss. But he was right.  
“Just touch me then,” she whispers against his lips, “Please touch me there.”  
She never needed it so badly.   
His hand fumbles with her jeans. Why the fuck did she wear-  
“Oh,” she moans.  
“Fuck,” he hisses, “so fucking wet,” she rocks against his hand, his wonderful fingers, thicker than hers and longer than hers, “So fucking needy. Filthy little Doll, begging to be fucked.”  
He voice is far from even in his strain but that doesn't stop him muttering in her ear.  
She looks down, he certainly looked strained and red hot.   
She wraps her fingers around his fat cock.   
He lets out a shuddering gasp and thrusts into her palm.   
“I swear I will fucking impale you on my cock,” he says it against her jaw, her pulsing throat, “I swear I fuck you so hard Dollface-” his fingers squelch inside her ever growing wet heat, “I always knew you had to be naughty to like me so much but I had no idea...”  
He rambles on and on. An endless stream of filthy promises as he fingers her with one hand and palms her breast with the other.   
It feels wonderful but she wishes she could see it all more clearly. Her shirt was in the way. She takes the edge of her shirt and pulls it up over her pert, bouncy tits and puts in it her mouth.  
He stops talking to stare.   
He stops all together.   
She rolls her hips hard against his hand with starts to rub his leaking tip at a tortourous pace then begins to bounce.  
It's a mess of noise. Her gushing cunt, his desperate pants, her needy whines.

He cums first.   
That was to be expected.   
She cums immediately after.   
Sound cuts out.   
She sees his mouth move in a rush of words she can almost make out as she arches and her eyes roll back and it is such bliss. But she does not hear him.

They're lying in the grass, cuddled up on his ruined shirt. Warm now in the aftermath. Flushed skin, against flushed skin. 

“I'll never hurt you J. I promise.”  
“I could never hurt you either.”

\---

She can't stop laughing. 

It's just so funny. 

So funny she can't stop crying.

Blue lights dance above her. 

~Red really suits you~

His voice echos in her ears. 

His curved red mouth dances before her eyes as his words echo through her mind.

She stares down at her hands, at her dress. 

She was red all over. 

It had to suit her.

Blue and black blur all around her. 

There's a loud pounding in her skull. 

Bodies writhing against her. 

She lets them push and pull and sways to the senseless sounds. 

What did any of it matter?

\----

“Where could she have gone?”  
“Bruce, I don't reccomend moving so much,” Alfred fretted.  
He waves his hands away.   
It's not like he was shaking his head back and forth, his neck was going to be fine especially now that it was bandaged it wasn't even a deep cut.  
Why weren't they doing anything! He glares at the room, at the aftermath. They were wheeling out the mayor in a bodybag. Jerome, and Barbara. Gordon was attending to Lee. And that was important but (Y/N) was out there somewhere. She was hurt, too! She needed to be attended to, too! He couldn't sit around and nurse his pathetic wound after everything. After tonight.  
“We need to find her! She's alone and she's hurt!”   
“Bruce I assure you we will-”  
“Who's we? This is the second time in days that maniac had his hands on her and you were just outside!”  
“Bruce,” Alfred chastises him.   
It wasn't fair to take it out on Gordon. His face couldn't possibly crumble anymore than it was. Bruce clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth.   
Gordon tries again.   
“I assure you, we will find her. Everyone at the precinct cares about her well-being. The best thing you can do for her is to go wait for her at home. She might have gone back herself.”  
That could be.   
“Alfred, let's go,” Bruce turns, then stops, “You will call me as soon as you find her. No matter the time.”  
“Of course.”  
In his rush to leave he bumps into someone.   
“My apologies.”  
The man says.   
“No, it was my bad,” Bruce looks at the man, holding a pack of ice to his head, “Are you alright?”  
Bruce recognized him. He had very unsuccessfully tried to deescalate the situation, with that speech.   
“Theo Galavan.”  
The man holds out his hand.   
He takes it.  
“Bruce Wayne.”  
“You were very brave tonight.”   
The man tells him.   
“I didn't do much of anything.”   
It was Alfred's life on the line. There was no real choice in the matter.   
Bruce wonders if she had seen him up there and felt the same urgency and lack of self preservation.   
“You were admirable as well,” if not naive, “It was nice meeting you Mr. Galavan, but I have to go. My friend-”  
“Of course, I won't keep you,” Theo Galavan smiles, “Do take care Bruce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always knew I had to include “that night” they kept referencing since it's a turning point for them both. And having her go back to that night after killing him, after ending it just seemed right.  
> Also I wanted to make it clear that she has issues. Like obviously she's better adjusted than Jerome, honestly who isn't, but her problems aren't just external. She may be mostly good, but she uses people too. I think that makes her more interesting than if she was somehow perfect in a deeply flawed world.   
> Anyway, sorry this update took so long. I did it on my phone at school and I always post on my computer at home, but it's been below zero the last few days and I was not interested in leaving my dorm outside of class. I wish I could say the next one will come sooner. But I am unsure. As usual I look forward to any comments, talking to you guys is a huge part of what makes this enjoyable for me. I've had such a positive experience posting fics <3 I hope everyone is doing okay and you have safe plans for celebrating the holidays.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!!! 
> 
> Now let us begin with another flashback. The morning after "that night".

“Where were you? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”   
She says nothing, keeping her eyes on the carpet.   
Somehow she doubts Mario was too hung up about it. Even if he was still here for some reason.   
“You're grounded. Go to your room.”  
She goes without an argument.   
She'd had enough excitement for the summer.   
The night before echoed heavy in her mind.   
Jerome, Jerome, Jerome.  
He was still sleeping when she left.   
Would he loathe her for that?  
Was she already breaking her promise? 

She's terrible, isn't she?

She's still sitting, sitting still on her bed when Victor Zsasz walks in.   
He never knocks that man.   
She glowers at him.   
He glowers back.   
“Where the hell were you?”  
“No where.”  
“You can't just run off like that.”  
“Apparently, I can.”  
How is she supposed to know when they care enough to look anyways.   
“Princess...”   
“...what?”  
He's kneeling in front of her now. When did that happen?  
She meets his gaze slowly.   
He's not glaring anymore, but the dark circles under his eyes-  
The dark circles under his eyes?  
She frowns.   
When was Victor Zsasz anything but immaculate?  
“...I was worried about you.”  
He says it low and deep and sincere.  
“You were?”  
He makes a face like she's said something very stupid.   
Like that face he made when she asked him to kiss her.   
She flushes and looks away, fingers twisting into her bedsheets.   
What on earth had she been thinking then?  
As if he could possibly-  
It was just a stupid crush.  
A really, really stupid-  
He takes her chin in his hand and makes her look at him again.   
“I don't understand you,” he shakes his head, “You ask me to kiss you, bold anything. Then you disappear. Now you won't even look at me. Are you toying with me?”   
She shakes her head, eyes wide, wide, wide, he was never this close on his own accord.  
Despite, or maybe because of how often they were thrust together, Victor made a habit of keeping distance between them.   
Distance he was now closing.  
His lips meet hers in a kiss that makes her flush pink from the very tops of her ears.  
“No more running off.”  
He tells her.   
“No more running off.”  
She agrees.

\- - - - -

She opens her eyes to an office room.  
It takes her embarrassingly long to recognize it.   
“Don't sit up too fast. You've had quite the night.”  
This is of course, the opposite of helpful. She jumps as soon as she hears his voice and turns to glare.   
Penguin sits in a chair at the other end of the couch she's haphazardly strewn on.  
“How did I get here?”  
The last thing she remembered was-  
She looks at her hands.   
The blood had dried, and cracked and sunken into each crease of her hand.   
“I imagine you walked.”  
From the gala?  
Her feet ache in response, as if to say, yes bitch all the way from the fucking gala.   
“You were causing quite the ruckus in the club. Butch brought you here.”  
The blue lights.   
Of course.  
That is so...typical.

Penguins slides over a glass of clear liquid.   
She doesn't take it.   
He rolls his eyes and drinks from it himself.  
“If I wanted to do something to you I could have already. No one's here to stop me.”  
That's hardly reassuring.   
But she's not sure if she wanted to see him-  
“He's not here?”  
If he wants to see her.  
Where was he?  
“Even I can't control him completely,” Penguin admits with a sour look, “I don't think even Don Falcone could.”  
“No?”  
She asks, disbelieving, but curious.  
“It's hardly a father's dream for their little girl to shack up with an assasin almost twice their age.”  
“Hmm,” he had a point.   
But who knew really, with her father, or with him for that matter.   
She's not sure she trusts either of them.  
People are always more complicated than you think they are.   
Penguin doesn't move, just watches her, beady eyes glinting in the low light. 

“What do you really want to talk about?”  
There must be something.   
There's always something.   
He smiles, thin lips spreading thinner, and she knows she was right.   
“I saw you tonight.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“With the boy, Valeska. It was all on tv. Quite the show...” he murmurs, “Quite the twist,” his eyes flash, “I was very impressed with you,” he thumbs the glass in his hand, she braces herself for something awful, or more awful or-“...You don't need to worry about your tuition.”  
“What?”  
She wasn't expecting that.  
“Your first year, I've wired the money to your personal account.”  
“Why would you do that?”  
What was the catch?  
Penguin would never do anything unless it benefited him.  
“I suppose I'm starting to realize the benefits of having you around. You keep things interesting,” he looks at her, he looks hungry, “I have to admit, I am curious...” 

It would have been inconceivable just to be alone with a Falcone of all things before he'd clawed his way this far.  
And not even that, but wanted by Zsasz, wanted by Valeska.   
Just what was she made of?  
What made her so desirable?  
He scrutinizes her.   
She shrinks under his gaze. 

All the fight that she had in her was long gone. Gone with Jerome. She barely had the energy to stand on her doubtless bruised feet. She doubted she could push him off if he tried anything.   
Being vulnerable in front of Penguin was not something she ever wanted to be again.  
Being this vulnerable at all.   
She stares at the velvet lining of the couch, nails digging into the crevice. Every strand of muscle strained tense.   
She doesn't think she could stand to feel another pair of hands on her.   
“You can relax,” he tells her, “I'm a gentleman first.”  
He sets another glass of clear liquid on the table and moves to go.  
She doesn't risk it.   
Even good men lie.   
And he was not that.  
“Stay as long as you please. Butch will take you anywhere you like.”  
He leaves her.   
His office is a somewhat better place without him, but she's far from relaxing, even tired as she is.   
She's not sure she'll ever be able.

There's a sound at the window.   
A girl with green eyes and wild hair dangling on the ledge.

“Hey, you.”

Selina helps her down.  
It's cold outside.   
How had she not noticed?  
She stares at the gooseflesh on her arms.  
“Bruce is really worried about you.”  
Bruce.  
She shivers.  
Every word comes out a whisper.  
“How is he?”  
“Just worried really.” Selina tells her, “He won't even need stitches.”  
Her fingers shake and twist in the air. Blood dried and cracking beneath her nails.   
“That's good.”  
“Let's go.”  
Selina takes her hand.  
She doesn't budge.  
“What's the matter?”  
Selina looks back at her.  
Looks worried. 

She killed someone. 

Hadn't she seen? Didn't she know? Wasn't she there?  
Maybe she missed it.   
How else could she look at her so earnestly, so much the same as before.  
Everything was wrong!

She was wrong. 

“I don't-” she can't see him, “I'm so ashamed!” she says in a whisper even lower, “Do you know I made him promise not to be a killer? And now I've gone and-” her voice rises to a fever pitch.  
“Breathe (Y/N).”  
Selina's hands are firm on her shoulders.  
She does with difficulty take a breath.  
“How can I face him?”  
It's all wrong.   
Tears stream down her cheeks unending.  
“He won't care! I promise you he doesn't care about that he's just worried about you.”  
“No.” She shakes her head, shakes it so violently her hair whips wildly around, “No. I can't see him right now. I can't. I can't. I can't.”  
She covers her face in her filthy, tainted, filthy hands and backs into the wall. 

“Okay, okay, let me just call him, okay? And we'll go to my place. But I'm warning you, my place is a real shithole.”

\- - - - 

(Y/N) cried herself unconscious.  
It's not easy hauling her out of the alley behind Oswald's, her arm over her neck. She feels very vulnerable on the actual ground. It's safer scaling buildings through the city, especially this time of night. She considers calling Alfred for a ride. But even the old man did keep Bruce out of the know, well, she likes keeping her hole in the wall secret.  
She would just have to be careful. 

She sees his shoes first.   
Black, polished.  
Sleek black pants.  
Black suit.  
Black eyes.   
Victor Zsasz stares down at her with an unreadable expression.   
She stares back, for lack of a better plan.   
His jaw ticks.  
“You need a ride?”  
It's not the kind of offer she can really refuse.

It is uniquely uncomfortable in his car.   
A loud sort of silence.   
“What happened?”  
“Don't you know?”   
Everyone knew by now, surely.   
He glares.   
Right, he wouldn't ask if he knew.  
“She killed that ginger twat.”  
“What do you mean she killed-”  
He jerks the wheel. The car swerves. They both swear. She clings to the handle on the roof.  
“God!” She hisses, then glares through narrowed eyes, “Where have you been? It was on TV. The mayor's dead, too.” She scowls, “It's been a big fucking news night, look anywhere.” 

It's silent again when he pulls into a dark corner close to her place.   
Selina throws (Y/N)'s arm back around her neck and slams the door shut.   
Zsasz is stewing or brooding or-  
She yanks the door open again, “Look, thank you. But as far as I'm concerned you're not much better for her. So stay away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of part one of this ridiculously long fic.   
> I just started my break. And I'm already involved in a project that will probably keep me busy for all of it. SO I do not know how consistent updates will be. But I will try. Honestly I'm sure I'll still need the escapism. I have like plan but not an outline yet is the thing. And I usually sort of go with the flow. Like I know what I want the next chapter to have. But I will definitely need to spend time planning out specifics at some point. Basically just keep your expectations low so I can pleasantly surprise you and everyone's happy :D But also please comment I live off of your delicious attention. And please please please stay safe. We have incredibly lived through 2020, but the pandemic isn't over yet so be careful, find ways to be happy and check in on the people you love <3


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